


Clash of the Hunters

by nightmares06, PL1



Series: Brothers Found [5]
Category: Bowman of Wellwood, Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean, Borrowers - Freeform, GT, Gen, Shrinking, Size Fic, The Borrowers - Freeform, fight, gianttiny, hurt comfort, protective big brother dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-08 04:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 42,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21469729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmares06/pseuds/nightmares06, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PL1/pseuds/PL1
Summary: Returning to the idyllic Wellwood Forest after his trials feels like a blessing for Jacob Andris while he’s struggling with the trauma from a past case.Yet this peace won’t last. The quiet in the forest is shattered with the entrance of a new hunter on the scene, one who’s nothing like the Dean Winchester that saved Jacob’s life before…
Series: Brothers Found [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/510467
Comments: 42
Kudos: 89





	1. A Wellwood Disturbed

The forest of Wellwood, named so by its resident wood sprites, thrived in most seasons. The groundwater, unusually pure and untouched by human influence, fed the many trees and plants the health they needed for strong growth. Animals lived out their balanced lives as nature intended them to, with populations of predator and prey fluctuating in time with each other.  
  
The wood sprites, keeping to themselves in the heart of the forest, had only learned in recent years that humans existed.   
  
Humans. Huge giants that could grab a group of sprites in one hand with no effort at all. Whose boots could destroy the idyllic village where it lay in hiding.  
  
After the revelation that giants existed, the sprites kept even more cautiously to themselves, knowing all too well the threat even one human could pose to their pacifist community. They had few defenses except for their seclusion, and no one was about to take that away.  
  
Thankfully, the sprites did have some humans they could trust. Humans that they knew without a doubt would come to their aid if there was danger, and even risk their own safety to protect them. One such human was present in the forest in the early autumn. His orange hoodie went well with the turning leaves of the maple trees, but that was where his camouflage ended. Even knowing how to keep his footsteps light and generally avoid crashing loudly through the forest, Jacob Andris was _big_ and hard to miss.  
  
Bowman was sure to point this out as he drifted on lazy wings through a sunbeam. "Y'know, you keep telling me you can somehow sneak up on these monsters you fight with Dean," Bowman mused, absently catching a fallen leaf in his hands as he flew ahead of the strolling human. "But I'm just not convinced it's possible."  
  
Jacob rolled his eyes and made a point to shuffle his boot through a small bunch of dry leaves. The forest was halfway through its transition to fall. Some of the trees were turning faster than others, marbling the canopy with greens and oranges and yellows. "Keep talking shit, _Leafwing._ What'll you do when all the leaves turn red and fall off?"  
  
Bowman's wings didn't shift color along with the leaves they mimicked in appearance. They remained as verdant as ever even with the trees changing. Bowman sent Jacob a scowl over his shoulder and threw the leaf he'd caught, but it fluttered off course in the breeze. "I'll stick to the pine trees, human," he shot back.  
  
Their banter often went that way. Despite their unceremonious first meeting, during which Jacob had pulled such charming stunts as grabbing Bowman out of the air and trapping him under a vase, a lot had happened since then. Jacob, learning to hunt the supernatural from Dean Winchester and his sprite-sized brother Sam, had made a mistake then; but Bowman had earned their loyalty now, helping the humans without prompting multiple times.  
  
Especially after the fiasco with the trickster. Bowman left the forest behind for days to offer help. He'd gone through his own terrifying situations even as Jacob dealt with the reality of surviving at such a small size. Having been reduced to an inch and a half tall, Jacob truly appreciated everything that people like Bowman and Sam had to do every day just to stay safe. That trickster had done it to "teach him a lesson," and it stuck, in more ways than one.  
  
Jacob's wounds had healed, but he still had deeper scars to deal with. The burn mark on his hand was nothing compared with the nightmarish memories that his mind still brought up on plenty of occasions. Thankfully, Jacob was getting a better handle on it. Being able to go on a few hunts like normal and visiting Wellwood in the meantime had helped.  
  
Everything else, he kept to himself. The others didn't need to know about the bad days.  
  
The strolls through the forest, with its cleaner air and vibrant colors, calmed him. Jacob looked up at a sky painted here and there with fluffy white clouds when the two of them emerged into a small clearing. Bowman zig-zagged back and forth in the air, letting himself enjoy the simple pleasure of sun on his wings.  
  
"Don't overdo it, or you'll never get to sleep," Jacob warned with a laugh as Bowman wheeled around in the air.  
  
In response, the sprite fluttered over to him and landed unabashedly on a shoulder. After the trials of the trickster, it always warmed Jacob's heart to be so trusted by his small friends.  
  
Bowman flicked his wings in annoyance. "The sun goes down eventually. There's no such _thing_ as overdoing photosynthesis!" While it wasn't strictly true, as a sprite could become incredibly sluggish, Bowman wasn't about to go into that. Satisfied that he'd told the human what was what, he fluttered off his shoulder again.  
  
In time for a _pop!_ to sound off and something to collide with Bowman from the side.  
  
_A net?!_ Bowman writhed against the bonds as they whipped around him and forced his wings to his sides. He fell in an arc and winded himself when he landed in the grass. He heard Jacob call his name in surprise, and then felt enormous human footsteps thundering in the ground.  
  
More than one set of footsteps.  
  
Bowman tried to wriggle around to see what was going on. A second human, one he didn't recognize, had rushed into the clearing. Jacob was taken by surprise by his sudden ambush, and fell to the ground with a crash that shook every blade of grass when the newcomer struck his head with the handle end of one of those 'gun' weapons Bowman had seen Dean use.  
  
Jacob groaned in surprised pain, unable to do anything to stop the man as he stomped over to where Bowman had fallen. Everything had happened so quickly that Bowman was hardly surprised to find himself grabbed and yanked into the air so fast.  
  
"You mountain of snakeskin, what do you want?! Let me _out!_ " Bowman demanded when the man opened his palm before his face. Bowman was hopelessly trapped in the bundle of netting, but even so the man roughly pinned the willowy sprite to his palm with one thumb.  
  
"Been hard at work already, I see," the man growled at him. "Seems it doesn't matter what kind of bug you are, you work your way into someone's head. Making this perfectly normal kid your plaything."  
  
Bowman actually paused in his struggles to peer at the man. He was pale, but with slightly darker skin than Jacob's, leathery from lots of time in the sun. His cold eyes looked Bowman over with nothing but contempt and disgust. "What?!" Bowman asked incredulously.  
  
"You can't fool me, bug," the man said in a lower voice, holding Bowman even closer to his face. "All of you sprites just want one thing, to cause trouble for us humans. You think you're better, but I'm here to prove you're _not._”  
  
That said, the man was content to ignore Bowman's further struggles and protests. He turned and stepped over where Jacob had fallen in shock, and retrieved a mid-sized duffel bag from where he'd hidden it in the trees. Bowman's heart fluttered in fear when huge fingers curled over him and sealed him in darkness. This human, this _insane_ human, had somehow been waiting to ambush the pair of them. And for who knew how long?  
  
Jacob, still on the ground, was dazed from the strike to his head. Even with all his training with Dean, he wasn't much use against an ambush. He didn't even have a weapon out here; he'd never anticipated finding a threatening human in the woods.  
  
He could hear Bowman protesting as loudly as his voice allowed, even through what Jacob recognized as a closed fist. He'd been the first one to ever trap Bowman in a hand that way, after all.  
  
Jacob winced, his vision still swimming from the strike, but managed to drag a phone out of his pocket while the man busied himself with something in his bag. He couldn't risk taking this guy on by himself. Not unarmed. Jacob flipped open the beat up old phone and started texting as fast as he could manage.  
  
_trouble. wellwood. 1 human maybe hunter_ was what he managed to scrawl out before desperately pressing **SEND.** Their assailant was coming back for him.  
  
Jacob was dragged upright by a tight grip on his hoodie. He heard the man say something that sounded like "It's a pity it already got into your head. Can't let you go running off warning the little bug bastards, kid." But it didn't seem quite right.  
  
_What got into my head_ Jacob wanted to ask. But the harsh sound of duct tape tearing filled his ears right before it was shoved over his mouth, preventing him from telling the man he was off his rocker. Jacob, only still coming out of his daze, was easy for the bulky human to drag over to one of the thinner maple trees at the edge of the small clearing.  
  
As he was moving, Jacob saw something that filled him immediately with rage. Bowman was still struggling in the strange net that had flown at him from out of the clearing, but his wriggling form had been dropped to the floor of a sparse metal cage. It looked like a rabbit trap.  
  
Jacob knew exactly what it was like to be that helpless. He struggled against his attacker, but though he was quite strong, he wasn't clearing his head quickly enough. His wrists were tied behind the trunk, and he found himself secured to the young tree with strong ropes. Jacob glared at the man as he stood up to his full height and looked over his work.  
  
The attacker smirked, satisfied, and easily sidestepped Jacob's attempt to kick his feet out from under him. He walked back over to the cage where he'd left it and nudged it with a boot, tipping the whole thing over. Bowman landed on the side but kept up his struggles.  
  
"What do you blasted want?!" Bowman yelled while the human snickered at his plight. Even if he broke free of that netting, he'd still be hopelessly stuck in a cage. Bowman _hated_ cages.  
  
"Justice, you insect," the man spat. "Sprites like you are out here roaming free when you should be locked up. If no one else will do it, then I'll be the man for the job, and I'm not gonna quit 'til you're dealt with one way or another. Every last one."  
  


* * *

**SUPERNATURAL**

* * *

  
“Aw, c’mon. I _dare _you.”  
  
Sam shot a glare up at his older brother, then stared down at the lemon that was sitting on the side of his plate. They were in a corner booth of a bar, having a drink together-- as much as they could, considering Sam was only four inches tall and it was dangerous for him to be spotted by anyone else at the bar.  
  
Sam shrugged. “Fine. But if I do it, _I_ get to be in charge of the radio the next time we drive.”  
  
Dean pursed his lips. “Deal,” he declared, holding out a hand to seal it.  
  
Sam hid a smile, reaching out to ‘shake’ with Dean. With Dean standing over six feet tall, that one hand could completely envelop him in a fist. Yet he didn’t flinch as a finger and a thumb the size of his body closed around his small arm in a pantomime of a handshake, as close as they could ever come with their size disparity.  
  
Sam took his hand back and eyed up the lemon Dean had got off the waitress with his Corona. It was the only way to drink one, he’d declared with a grin in her direction. Now, it was Sam’s opponent. He was supposed to take a bite, a _real_ bite of it without gagging.  
  
Sam had faith he’d be fine.  
  
Sam lifted a small piece of the lemon, a bubble of fruit that contained the juice and skin he’d be ‘enjoying’ in a few seconds. He took a deep breath, going to…  
  
A guitar riff cut through the air, startling both brothers. Dean instinctively flinched a hand over Sam, blocking the smaller hunter from sight as he realized what had gone off.  
  
Sam got a breather before he had to go through with his dare as Dean fumbled the phone out.  
  
“Got a message,” the hunter mumbled as he unlocked the phone. “It’s from Jacob.”  
  
Sam came to the edge, peering at the device held in his brother’s huge hand. His blood froze at the message as it scrolled onto the screen.  
  
_trouble. wellwood. 1 human maybe hunter._  
  
The two brothers shared a look, the lemon in Sam’s hands forgotten as it sunk in. Humans. In the Wellwood forest, where an entire civilization of small sprites waited, defenseless. Even if it wasn’t a hunter, news like this could spell disaster for the peaceful village, and maybe for more sprites across the world if word got out about them. Even Sam’s people might get affected, if humans suddenly started searching for signs of smaller people.  
  
Sam was already climbing up Dean’s arm to get to his pocket hiding spot as the hunter yelled out “Check, please!” in a voice edged with determination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for eventual non-consensual shrinking. 
> 
> **Next: **November 20th, 2019 at 9pm
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


	2. Hit the Ground Running

The Impala roared down the road, tearing towards their destination.  
  
With over a twelve hour drive to reach the Wellwood, Dean had needed to stop at a truck stop to take a quick nap in the car. He was no use to anyone if he collapsed from exhaustion the moment he reached the forest.  
  
Sam perched on his shoulder, playing the silent sentinel as the scenery passed swiftly by the windows. They hadn’t talked much during the trip. They were both equally worried for what had happened in the forest, and they had almost no information to go on. Since that text, the phone had been silent, a foreboding fact that hung over their heads. It was dangerous for them to text Jacob back, if that phone fell into the wrong hands, so they hadn’t sent an acknowledgement. Hopefully Jacob wouldn’t think he’d been abandoned.  
  
That was the last thing either brother would ever do after everything they’d gone through together.  
  
Jacob was as close to family as they’d ever found in the world. He’d been accepted into their team by everyone, even the surly Bobby. That first encounter with Sam, where he’d trapped and accidentally injured the smaller of the brothers, hadn’t prepared anyone for what the future had held. Dean teaching the younger man how to handle himself on a hunt, Sam and Dean both adopting him as a younger brother… and they wouldn’t have it any other way.  
  
The ride grew bumpy as the Impala pulled off to the side, parking in a small area saved for hikers and campers. Jacob’s Mercury Cougar was parked in its usual spot, innocuously hidden in the clearing between the trees. It was a little rusty, but it managed well enough to get him from point a to point b during school.  
  
Dean packed everything he could into the duffel. It was at least an hour’s hike to get to where Jacob met up with Bowman, and further than that if they needed to go all the way to the village. They might not have time to make it all the way back to the car if things went to hell.  
  
He hefted the duffel up to a shoulder. “Ready, pint-size?” he asked his younger brother, who was sitting on his right shoulder like normal.  
  
“As I’ll ever be.”  
  


* * *

  
The trip through the forest was a familiar journey. Even Dean, with his lackluster sense of direction when it came to tromping through the foliage, had finally got the hang of it after a few trips to visit the sprites with Jacob, and one time without (though Jacob had been with them on the way back, no one wanted to remember that fateful trip).  
  
Eventually, a clearing came into view. Dean stiffened as he spotted movement up ahead, and ducked behind a tree. “Got ‘m,” he hissed to Sam.  
  
He peered around the tree with Sam, both hunters taking in the sight.  
  
In twelve hours, the man had completely taken over the clearing. His bag was tossed to one side, forgotten at the moment while he tinkered with the same net gun thing that he'd used to knock Bowman out of the air the previous afternoon. The sprite in question had finally managed to escape the tangled bonds on his own, only for them to be snatched out of the cage, leaving him with nothing but himself in there.  
  
They'd learned very little from the man. His name was Logan, and he was a hunter, but not the kind of hunter that Dean and Sam and Jacob were. Bowman was confused about the difference, but he'd laughed in Jacob's face when the younger human asked him about 'vampires' and 'werewolves.'  
  
It was just a human who hunted animals for sport, giving him the skills he'd happened to need to get the jump on Jacob.  
  
Bowman hadn't given up much about himself either, and Jacob certainly wouldn't offer up any information when Logan had ripped that tape off his face. Even with the threat of a gun he hadn't wavered. The tape had been replaced when Logan had decided that Jacob was too far gone to be of any help.  
  
Bowman leaned half-curled in one corner of the metal cage, his wings splayed haphazardly around him. Logan seemed to think that Jacob could be "redeemed" of his friendship with the sprite, and had gone easy on him so far. The same was not true for Bowman. He'd been rattled around inside that cage so much that he couldn't feel a part of him that wasn't at least mildly bruised.  
  
It didn't help that, every time Logan decided Bowman was due for more interrogation, the sprite responded with curses and defiance and zero cooperation. No matter how potently that human glared at him, how frightening he was, Bowman didn't give in. There was no way he'd ever give away his fellow sprites. Not for the world.  
  
Logan had somehow resisted his obvious urge to wring Bowman's neck. It seemed that even with his tracking skills, he had no leads on how to find the village, which was one shining beacon of good luck in the bad situation. Bowman could only hope they were taking the right precautions at home, if they knew about his predicament. With patrol more efficient now thanks to his efforts, they probably did. Bowman wouldn't be able to stand it if other sprites were captured or hurt because of him.  
  
Logan tossed aside his net canister and got up from where he sat, striding casually over to stand above the cage. He seemed to enjoy looking down at his captive. Jacob was mumbling again, and judging by the look in his eyes the words weren't kind. Bowman reserved his focus for Logan.  
  
"Feel like talking, yet, bug?" Logan spat in a low voice that he knew was threatening. Indeed, he smirked when Bowman shivered.  
  
"Human, you ran out of things for us to talk about before you even got here," Bowman shot back. He should have known to brace himself, but when one of those boots lashed out and kicked the cage several feet, he reasoned that it wouldn't have mattered. It landed closer to Jacob.  
  
Bowman looked over from where he'd landed prone and met his friend's eyes. Jacob was trying desperately to break his hands free from the knots that held them secure. He still couldn't manage it despite his enormous strength, but Bowman didn't have room in his head to wonder at how such a strong knot could exist.  
  
Logan's footsteps were closing the distance again.  
  


* * *

  
Scar Wolfblind, the most able fighter among the wood sprites of Wellwood, watched the unfamiliar human snatch up young Bowman's cage with a burning in his heart. Everything in him wanted to lunge forward out of his well chosen hiding spot and attack that man for daring to harm one of his own. It was only his knowledge that it could make the situation worse that kept him hidden among the last green leaves of a maple tree.  
  
Scar had a unique temperament among the wood sprites. While he was still a pacifist by nature along with the rest, he knew how to fight and he knew when it was needed. Knights had a duty to keep predators away from the village, and making the wrong move at the wrong time could mean being eaten. When the predators all outsized the sprites by far, it was imperative to know how to deal with them.  
  
Dealing with humans, however, was not something any of them understood completely.  
  
Scar had learned begrudging respect for the giants. His few conversations with Jacob, the captive young human, had helped the knight learn more about the gigantic creatures. He was still woefully underprepared to deal with this Logan. All Scar knew for certain was that the man's thunder-weapon was a threat, and the knife stowed at his belt was longer than the average sprite wingspan. He was more dangerous than any wolf they'd faced.  
  
While watching and waiting, Scar had only a few other sprites nearby, waiting for some kind of sign to move. All of them were equipped with darts full of poison, but they couldn't risk rushing in just yet.  
  
One of the others landed silently next to Scar. He didn't move a muscle even as they leaned in to mutter something in his ear. His piercing eyes flicked to them after receiving the news and they pointed out into the woods. Scar nodded and, after ensuring the scout would take up his watch, glided off the branch on quiet wings.  
  
Following the scout's directions, Scar found the other friendly humans that Wellwood knew. Dean, the giant one, and Sam, the sprite-sized one. They also kept watch over the field from a distance. Though Scar was wary as he dropped to a branch just above Dean’s eye level, he was relieved all the same.   
  
The human was looking away from him, sizing up the scene. Scar stood tall and proud on the branch, a rapier on one side of his belt and a barbed dart at the other. His boots were planted and his wings were half furled. Though Scar had the appearance of confidence and bravery, he was ready to dart away at a moment's notice. Sometimes he had a hard time believing such gigantic creatures could actually be trustworthy, though he knew without doubt it was true after all they'd done.  
  
"Humans," he greeted in a hushed voice, more to let them know he was there than anything.  
  
Dean's eyes flashed to the side, long practice with Sam and Bowman (and Jacob, for a week) preventing him from making any threatening moves or lunges in his surprise. The sight of Scar perched on that branch wasn't a complete surprise with what had happened. The sprites had scouts, patrolsprites that watched over the forest, and Scar would be the first to hear about any incursions, from what Dean understood.  
  
Dean gave the small sprite a nod of respect. Anyone willing to fight against a wolf the size of a building to protect his home had more than earned that respect, in his opinion. Wolves were dangerous enough to fight at six feet tall, fighting them at four inches or less would be a suicide mission.  
  
Yet the knights did that whenever the occasion rose, protecting their home.  
  
Now they had a new foe. And based on the supplies this stranger had and the way he was treating Bowman, a very dangerous one. One that didn't care if he injured his prisoner.   
  
"We got a message from Jacob earlier," Dean informed the sprite without having to be asked. They needed all the information they could get. "He said a new human was around, and that he might be a hunter." His steely green eyes landed back on the man that had their friends trapped. "I'm assuming this jackass is the one he meant."  
  
Scar was unfamiliar with the term _jackass,_ but he could tell easily from Dean's tone what it must mean. "Yes," he replied with a curt nod. When he turned his head to look at Logan again, his eyes narrowed and he subconsciously tensed into a defensive stance. The human had Bowman's cage held between his hands. Every time the young sprite snarked back at him, he gave the container a harsh shake.  
  
"If we aren't careful he'll kill Bowman right there," Scar added quietly. He had gathered enough to know that the man was after sprites. If they rushed in, he would have more of them within reach to capture, and Bowman might exhaust his usefulness to the human. He aimed to convince Bowman to tell him where the village was.  
  
Lucky for the village, Logan had captured one of the most stubborn wood sprites under the sun.  
  
"We don't know why Jacob is captured too. He is strong but the ropes on him are stronger. I have instructed my knights not to approach him in case the ... 'jackass' notices."  
  
Only a flicker hit Dean's face at the sight of Bowman's cage being shaken yet again. It was more than enough for Sam to know that the hunter was aching to burst out into the clearing and free their friends, but he was holding back. They all had to. There was too much space between Dean and this strange hunter's base camp to cover, and no time to waste if he got his hands on Bowman.  
  
"Good thing we have a secret weapon, then, right?" Sam said with a glint in his eye.  
  
Dean shifted, trying to catch sight of Sam. "He'll see me coming, and he's expecting sprites," he agreed. "I doubt he knows that anyone like Sam even _exists_."  
  
Sam nodded. "I can reach Jacob, and cut him free. That hunter won't expect the attack to come from so close. All we need is a way to let Jacob know what's going on so I don't get knocked off. I'll be able to fill him in on everything that he's missed."  
  
Dean lowered himself silently down to the ground, putting the duffel lightly down. Inside, he had a mirror they'd used on a case not long ago. It had been a last minute attempt to deflect a spirit's wrath at them by flashing its reflection back at it. It worked, to a point. The spirit was temporarily drawn into the reflective surface, just long enough for them to find the bones and burn them. Here, it would serve a different purpose.  
  
"Morse," Dean said triumphantly. "I just have to wait until that guy's turned away, and I'll let Jacob know help’s on the way." He glanced up at Scar. "If Sam can cut Jacob free, we should be able to take this guy out without anyone else getting caught."  
  
Scar narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at the large looking glass in Dean's hands. For the moment the smooth surface only showed images of the earthy green hues mixed with autumnal orange, but it was shiny enough that Scar didn't doubt it would be useful in flashing some kind of signal to the captive human - whatever 'Morse' was.  
  
Looking back at the clearing, Scar clenched his jaw. Bowman's cage was once again discarded on the ground. It was hard to see him in the grass, but he wasn't fluttering or shaking the walls of his cage. Every time that infuriating human tried to interrogate Bowman, the young sprite got a little more battered. It was only a matter of time before the torment extended to worse things than being shaken around.  
  
Jacob was likely their best chance of getting Bowman safely out of Logan's reach. Once that could be accomplished, Dean could safely engage. No one needed to be captured or hurt.  
  
Scar nodded and turned back to Sam. The sprite-sized human was brave and fierce; Scar had heard from Bowman about how Sam had viciously taken on a rat well over twice his size with only his knife and his wits, all to protect Jacob when he'd been woefully reduced in size. It was an impressive feat and Sam had earned a lot of respect just from that.  
  
"He won't be looking for someone like you," Scar agreed. "I agree with this plan. However, the forest floor is dangerous, even with a weapon. I will send a knight to keep an eye open from above so you can focus on reaching your goal without wasting time fighting."  
  
Sam accepted the help with a nod. "Just watch out for that hunter. There's no telling how he caught Bowman. The last thing we need is to give him another sprite to 'interrogate.' "  
  
Dean held up a hand, letting Sam climb onto his palm. It was second nature for the brothers at this point. They'd been back together for well over a year, and sometimes almost seemed to function as one.  
  
Dean's hand was steady as it lowered down to the ground, and Sam hopped into the grass. It stretched over his head, making it appear as though he was exploring some exotic jungle instead of a clearing in the woods.  
  
Dean gave him a chuck in the shoulder with a finger. "Watch yourself out there, pint-size," he cautioned, his eyes going back to where Bowman's cage was abandoned on the ground. It was so _small_ compared to either human out there, it would be easy to overlook. But one of their best friends was trapped in it, and fighting for his life with his own brand of stubborn determination.  
  
At least when Bowman's captors had been Jacob and Dean, there had been no torment. With him trapped in a vase, much like he was now trapped in a cage, there was no reason to. He had nowhere to go, and at that point there was no one around to help him.  
  
Now, things were different. Sam and Dean and Jacob would all do what they could to save the loyal sprite after everything he'd done for them. He was a part of the team, and one of the reasons that Jacob was still alive after their run-in with the trickster.  
  
Sam brushed himself off, doing a mock roll of his eyes, though he didn't expect anything else of Dean. "I'll be fine," he insisted. "Piece of cake, right? This is nothing compared to being trapped in a toy store, and we all got out of that in one piece."  
  
With a wave at Scar and Dean, Sam drew his knife. He had to catch his bearings now that the grass stretched overhead, and then he started out on his journey. It was a long distance to travel on his own out in the wilderness - unlike the sprites, he had no wings of his own. But he was fast and determined, and unlike the majority of the sprites, he was trained to be able to handle himself in a fight against an animal. So long as there wasn't a hawk passing overhead to snatch him off the ground or a wolf or badger nearby, he _should_ be fine. The hunter's base camp in the area, and Dean lurking in the backdrop, would discourage most animals from venturing near.  
  
Sam vanished into the grass. Dean took a deep breath, worried for his brother, then pushed it out of his mind. He had his own job to do. As he prepared, he heard the faintest whisper of wings as Scar left to alert the other sprites of their plan.  
  
The sun was bright overhead, assisting his attempt. The moment the hunter in the field was turned away, Dean caught the light with the small mirror. It took a few moments to get the direction right, but then a flash of light passed over Jacob's face. Dean cursed, then readjusted. With it positioned to reflect over Jacob's eyes, he began to send a message, slow and halting like Morse Code was. Unlike Sam, Jacob didn't know all of their own shorthand, but he _did_ know the entire language.  
  
_Wait... Help is... on... the way..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always forget just how fast this story jumps into the action... 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next: **November 24th, 2019 at 9pm


	3. The Journey to Jacob

Jacob breathed heavily from rage and exertion. With tape over his mouth, he hadn't been able to tell Logan off while the man ruthlessly interrogated Bowman. Every hour or so, the hunter would spout some nonsense about sprites, claiming they played mind games, and start on Bowman again. The tenacious little prisoner never gave him anything.  
  
Jacob's wrists and arms complained from the strain on them. He'd been tied to that tree for what felt like a day. Everything was sore. The only thing he wanted to do was get to Bowman and free him from that cage.  
  
_Sam, Dean, I hope you're on your way,_ he thought despairingly. Jacob had no doubt that the brothers would come to Wellwood's aid ... if they got the message. They could be busy on a case somewhere across the country for all he knew.  
  
Just as the disparaging thought manifested, a bright light caught him off guard and he turned his head in surprise.  
  
He squinted as the light flickered again, right in his eyes. He realized partway through the first word that it was no trick of the light. It was Morse code. _Help is on the way._ He sighed with relief, glad that he'd worked on learning the code. He wasn't as fluent as Sam and Dean, but studying had given him something useful to focus on in the last few months.  
  
Jacob knew what it looked like for Sam to communicate that way. He'd been in one of Dean's pockets with the smaller brother once. Jacob hadn't had a chance yet to communicate with Sam that way outside of practice, but he knew the Morse alphabet at least. And now he knew that they were there, and ready to help.  
  
He turned his glare back to Logan, who was tinkering with what looked to be some kind of trap involving a wire net. A snare. He was planning on setting snares to capture sprites. And what was his bait? Jacob's eyes drifted to where Bowman lay panting on the bottom of the cage.  
  
Bowman was facing upwards at the sky, his bright green eyes visible as they reflected the sun's light. His wings were quivering, and everything in his posture spoke of melancholy. Jacob knew that look, because he'd seen it on Bowman's face over a year ago when the sprite was stuck under a vase. Bowman knew it too, on some level; neither prisoner could reasonably doubt that Logan would use Bowman as bait in a trap to capture more sprites.  
  
Relying on the compassionate drive to help one's own. Logan called them bugs and in the same train of thought chose to rely on such a human reaction out of them. The fanatic hatred against the small people made less and less sense the more Jacob heard him talk. He only wished he could communicate to Bowman that he could see a literal glimmer of hope out in the woods.  
  


* * *

  
Scar returned as Dean finished up the last part of his message. The knight was tempted to ask how that code worked after all of this was over, though he wondered how often it would actually be needed. Regardless, any tool useful against the many possible enemies out there would need to be added to their resources.  
  
He waited patiently for the message to finish up before speaking. "The others know, and one of the knights will shadow Sam as closely as they can safely approach the clearing. If Jacob can get Bowman out of range of further harm, you'll be clear to step in."  
  
Dean nodded as he hunkered down in the underbrush, eyes staying trained on the hunter in the clearing. “When it’s time, I’ll be ready.” He shaded his eyes, wishing he could do more for the others in the clearing.  
  
“Until then, we wait.”  
  


* * *

  
The trip was long, and arduous.  
  
It was, truthfully, the first time Sam had traveled so far outside on his own since he’d been downsized.  
  
As a kid, he’d explored everywhere. The fields behind Bobby’s had been a favorite hangout of his and Dean’s. They’d climb the trees, race around in the fields, and pretty much do whatever they could to forget about life. Enjoy some time that they didn’t need to spend in the Impala, traveling from town to town on their father’s drive to destroy the monsters that preyed on the unsuspecting.  
  
Eventually, Dean had begun to gravitate towards the cars in the junkyard. He’d started to learn how to repair them, and Sam had spent more time on his own. Sometimes he’d wished for those days with Dean to last longer. Especially once the curse hit, and suddenly he couldn’t even venture outside without being in danger from a thousand different things. Humans, wild animals, a simple accident… Outside trips were now a matter of life and death, too dangerous without Dean along as backup.  
  
Today, he was on his own. The sprite overhead was keeping watch for any dangers that Sam couldn’t see past the grass that walled him in on all sides. Distant sounds from the campsite guided Sam on his way, leaving the safety of Dean behind and pressing on in the alien landscape.  
  
He swerved around a spider nest, remembering the problems that had arose from him not spotting one back when they’d first met Bowman. The sprite had shoved him out of the way, preventing Sam from getting his leg bit and possibly killed, and Dean had caught Bowman as a result.  
  
Sam had spent time learning about the dangers of the natural world once he knew the sprite. A lot of it was in line with what he’d learned growing up in the motel; only with more numerous animals, and nowhere near as much cover. Dark corridors stretching above his head was what Sam was adjusted to. Not wide open fields, with creatures that could attack from any angle, including _above_.  
  
Sam glanced up at the sky as that brought to mind the thought of hawks and falcons that could carry him off. There was nothing in what he could see of the bright blue expanse. No dangerous shadows hanging above their heads, ready to strike.  
  
Sam reached Jacob at long last. The towering hunter was secured to the tree with thick ropes. Nothing that he’d have a problem cutting through. He just needed time.  
  
Wary of standing on any unaware human, Sam chose to climb Jacob first to give him a heads up. The thick hoodie fabric made it an easy climb to the top. Before finishing the climb, he peered around the clearing. The moment the hunter wasn’t looking in his direction, Sam sprang up. “Jacob,” he hissed. He was close enough to the young human’s ear that he didn’t need to talk in a normal voice. “Hey.”  
  
Sam put a hand against his neck. “So, I guess you need some more rescuing.”  
  
Jacob stiffened to find that there was indeed a tiny weight on his shoulder. And then he groaned quietly and rolled his eyes. He didn't risk turning his head very far to look, since Logan could notice any move he made. He'd just have to save his flat look for later.  
  
Sam wasn't wrong; Jacob had needed more than his fair share of rescuing lately. But dammit, this was different. Before, he really had been completely helpless, too small to hope for survival without help. Now, he would be of some use if he could just get free of his bonds. Bowman rolled over in the cage, forlornly draping a quivering wing over himself.  
  
He needed help more than Jacob did, but Jacob was the one close enough to give it.  
  
Since Jacob couldn't answer in more than mumbles, he didn't. He simply sighed and allowed himself a nod. He couldn't help but think about his last trial when he was shrunk. He was in a situation similar to Sam's; Dean was the one tied up, and needing help getting free. He had to remind himself that at least Sam was bigger than an inch and a half tall and had a knife. He already had a head start.  
  
“Alright, just hang on. I’m gonna make this quick.” Sam glanced towards the treeline, knowing his brother was out there waiting along with the sprites. “Dean’s here, and he’s ready to make his move. He just needs us to get Bowman out of the line of fire before he can risk _anything._ I’ll have your bindings cut as fast as I can, but they’re thick. It’ll take a few minutes at least.”  
  
With that said, Sam dropped down Jacob’s back, using his twisted arm for a steep pathway. The orange fabric slid around under his boots, threatening to toss Sam off, but he persevered.  
  
Situated on Jacob’s thick wrist, Sam anchored himself to the rope as he knelt down. He kept his knife sharpened, ready to use at a moment’s notice. His life could depend on it. It sliced easily into the rope, and he started to hack away at the thick coils.  
  


* * *

  
Jacob kept himself as still as possible. He knew how easy it'd be for a simple twitch to throw Sam in the dirt. He might not be high enough from the ground to injure himself if he fell, but it'd cost them precious seconds. They couldn't afford any delays, least of all Bowman.  
  
Jacob tried to catch the sprite's eye, but it was no use. Bowman had retreated under his wings. Probably to recover from the fear that thrummed through him. He hated being confined as much as anyone would, possibly more because he couldn't fly. He loved flying, and prized his wings like one cherishes an heirloom. They had to be awfully bruised now, from all the shaking around in that cage.  
  
Jacob scanned the trees around the forest. Even the plants ringing their small clearing seemed to lean in closer, as if waiting for something more to happen. As if hoping to see their small friend make it out okay.  
  
The wood sprites were _peaceful._ All of Bowman's snark aside, he was a pacifist at heart and tended away from the urge to fight. Even the knights of Wellwood only fought when they had to. That Logan was here, on the offensive and ready to attack all of them, was sick. Jacob didn't know where he'd gotten his information, but it was woefully wrong. The sprites tended to the trees and plants of the forest with utmost care. None of them came close to playing 'mind games.'  
  
_Hang in there, Bowman. We'll get you out of this._  
  


* * *

  
Despite spending hours stuck in that clearing with the sun shining down on him, Bowman was exhausted. He might never run out of quips for Logan, but he worried he'd run out of strength to say them. Every little movement in the clearing made him flinch. It could mean Logan was coming his way.  
  
Bowman took a chance and peeked out from under his wing. Jacob was sitting unusually still. The human had struggled almost nonstop since Logan had tied him to that tree, but now he was frozen stiff. Intrigued, Bowman lifted his wing further out of his way to peer at Jacob and find out why he had given up on breaking free.  
  
A shuffling to the side drew Bowman's attention. He sat up when Logan stood to his full height, something in his huge hands. Bowman swallowed and pushed himself backwards with the heels of his hands as the man approached. A shadow swept over Bowman as Logan blocked the sunlight and stood directly over him with a nasty smirk on his face.  
  
Bowman scowled and flinched when Logan nudged the cage with his boot before dropping to a swift kneel. Displaced air played at Bowman's wild hair and he got a better view of what Logan was holding. What appeared to be a tangle of thin metal wires was bunched in his grip. Bowman knew better. He'd seen material like that before.  
  
A snare. It was a trap that, when Logan set it, would remain hidden amongst the foliage. When something wandered into it (a sprite included), it would tangle around them mercilessly, only tightening the more they struggled. The only way out would be cutting the wires away from them, and Bowman had a feeling Logan wouldn't be kind in the process if he caught someone.  
  
"Making art projects, I see," Bowman snapped. "I've seen better."  
  
The cage rattled roughly as Logan gripped one end in a huge hand and tilted it sharply so that Bowman fell to one side in a heap. "You cheeky little shit. Do you know what this is?" he taunted, his hand still gripping the cage, hovering menacingly over Bowman.  
  
Righting himself, Bowman glared at the human. And then begrudgingly nodded. The response seemed to satisfy the human and he snickered. "Do you think someone will be stupid enough to fall into that?" Bowman yelled over the infuriating laughter.  
  
"I think they'll be stupid enough to try to rescue _your_ worthless self," Logan countered so swiftly that Bowman flinched. He dropped the mess of wires to the grass in front of the cage, and Bowman's eyes were drawn to it. The cold metal gleamed at him threateningly, holding his mortified focus.  
  
_He's really gonna use me as bait?!_  
  
Bowman looked up to protest more, to insist that it would never work. That he'd rather rot in that trap than let anyone near him. He wouldn't let it happen. He _couldn't._   
  
His words were lost at the sight of that knife drawn. The long blade was like a mirror, reflecting Bowman's terror back at him as Logan brushed the flat of the blade along the cage bars for effect. It worked. Logan sneered.  
  
"Just need to get those wings of yours clipped, butterfly. Can't catch one and lose another." He let the cage fall back to the ground and his free hand moved towards the latch on the cage door. Bowman felt a cry of fear trying to leap out of his throat as he scrambled away from the door. Logan's finger and thumb pinched the latch slowly and the human smirked, obviously relishing the fear his actions caused.  
  
Bowman folded his wings as tightly behind himself as he could, watching the latch come undone.  
  


* * *

  
Logan was pleased to see that he'd found a way to get the little bug to shut up with his snarky comebacks. If he'd known threatening those wings would work this well, he'd have set to work modifying his trap sooner. The snares were simple on their own, and usually relied on being hidden to capture prey. It only took a few key adjustments to be able to bait them effectively and speed the process along.  
  
Those uncannily bright green eyes stood out against the little flit's brown skin, and were full of fear. The tiny freak really had been obnoxiously bold with Logan so far. It seemed he shared the arrogance that Logan knew of other sprites. All of them needed to be put in their place.  
  
He'd work until the day he died putting as many of them there as he could. Starting with whatever remained of this little bastard's colony. Logan didn't know much about the leafy-winged sprites, but he knew enough. That insidious little bastard had probably been unable to get into Logan's head thanks to his prior experience with sprites. Slinging insults was his only other defense. It was a peaceful quiet that settled over them.  
  
_Too quiet,_ Logan realized suddenly with a leer of annoyance. He latched up the cage again and turned his head to the side. The kid was just sitting there, his eyes burning with rage over his little friend. Logan almost felt bad for him, being so fooled like that.  
  
But he wasn't _moving._ Wasn't making a sound, trying to swear behind the duct tape over his mouth. Logan stood again, easily sliding his knife back into his sheath as he observed the boy. There was an unusual concentration in his eyes, and his gaze followed Logan with distrust. "What's the matter, kid? Give up on resisting?" Logan goaded, stepping towards the kid where he sat against the tree.  
  
"Or maybe you decided to try being smart ..." When Logan reached Jacob, the kid tried to kick at him. Logan easily sidestepped the motion before landing a kick right back, connecting with the boy's shin. A grimace and a grunt of pain were his reward. With that out of the way, Logan leaned around the tree, expecting to see a pocket knife or something remotely sharp in the kid's hands, sawing away at his thick bonds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intensity intensifies!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next: **November 27th, 2019 at 9pm


	4. Unleashed

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Sam froze up. He glanced towards the front of Jacob, but his view was blocked by the human’s bulk.  
  
It clearly wasn’t Jacob, crashing through the underbrush and flattening grass beneath his boots. It _couldn’t_ be Dean, not with Bowman still in the line of fire.  
  
Which left one option for humans in the area.  
  
Sam abandoned the rope. There was no time to finish hacking away at the coils. He’d put a good dent in the first one, moving as fast as he dared while being cautious enough so he didn’t accidentally slice into Jacob’s wrist. Neither of them needed that added pain. Jacob bleeding from the arm, and Sam tossed onto the ground from a flinch. The memory of Sam’s first encounter with the human rose to mind. His blade slicing desperately into Jacob’s skin had been enough to cause the human to reflexively drop him, luckily landing after only falling a foot.  
  
The tree offered no cover. It was smooth and young, the bark had no places for him to dive into to hide. He could go behind the tree, but that wasn’t any better. He’d be visible to all sides but one; the young tree couldn’t be any thicker than a foot at the base, if that much. It’d be too easy for the other human to spot Sam trying to hide behind it.   
  
The wrist beneath him bucked slightly as Jacob kicked out at their foe, trying to slow him down. Fingers curled, almost forming a fist right in front of Sam. One last jerk of the body he stood on rattled Sam as Logan easily deflected Jacob’s attempts to delay him.  
  
_No time_.  
  
With no other options left, Sam chose the closest and the simplest.  
  
He dove up the sleeve of Jacob’s orange hoodie, flattening himself against the smooth skin that throbbed beneath his body with a steady but accelerated pulse. A shiver overtook Sam as he saw a shadow fall over the opening.  
  


* * *

  
Logan hadn't seen enough of the skittering thing to figure out what it was in the split second before it disappeared up the kid's sleeve. With a vicious snarl on his face, he lunged to make sure it wouldn't get away. His hand wrapped around the kid's arm, landing over the tiny thing. He let out a triumphant "Ha!" as he felt it wriggling in surprise. It was certainly no bigger than a sprite, though Logan didn’t feel any wings on it. He narrowed his eyes and shifted around the tree to kneel closer.  
  
"Sit still, kid, God dammit," Logan growled, adding just a little pressure as Jacob tried to squirm free. He glanced at the ropes, seeing only minimal damage to them. He was certain it wasn't enough for the boy to break free. Even as built as he was, he was still just a kid. There was no way he had the skill for a trick like that.  
  
Now for the tiny intruder.  
  
Logan wasn't one to waste any time trying to force the tiny thing back out of the sleeve. He could lose it or crush it before he had a chance to figure out what it was. It had interfered quite enough already and he wasn’t going to let it take up more time than necessary. He retrieved his knife again, the metallic rasp against the sheath ringing like a clear bell in the quiet clearing. The kid mumbled in alarm. His hands were both clenched into fists and he tried to pull free without accidentally crushing his little helper.   
  
It didn’t work.  
  
And then there was a muffled outcry as the knife sliced into the kid’s arm, cutting through his sleeve and his skin alike. The fairly deep cut bled profusely, but Logan didn't care; he could probably patch it up later if the boy looked like he might pass out. No need to kill the boy if he could be freed from the sprites’ influence. He focused on stowing his knife again and reaching into the cut in the sleeve, grasping fingers aiming for the creature trapped there.  
  
He got his finger and thumb around a tiny waist and yanked it out of the jacket, stepping back into the light of the clearing to see what he'd found. "... What the fuck?!" he blurted, ignoring the kid's attempts to kick at him and probably cuss him out while he turned the little person-shaped thing this way and that. It was covered in blood, but it looked like all of it was the kid's. "You some kinda sprite, runt?"  
  
“What’s it to you, you son of a _bitch! _” Sam snarled right back at the human, trying desperately to shove away the fingers that were clamped tightly, _too_ tightly, around his waist. His entire upper body was covered with blood after the way the human had sliced through Jacob’s arm, and all to get Sam out faster.  
  
Bright brown eyes, cold and uncaring, stared right through him as he kicked and struggled. If the human wasn’t careful, _and why would he be,_ Sam thought disparagingly, he could snap a bone just in the simple motions and disorienting movements. At one point, Sam was almost completely upside down, staring at the ground so far away and knowing that if he fell it would rush up to greet him with fatal speed.  
  
He tightened his grip on his knife, ready to use it. After the way this man had tormented Bowman and shown no care for Jacob’s well being at _all,_ he didn’t deserve any better. Sam’s arms and chest ached after the way he’d been nearly crushed against Jacob’s arm, but that couldn’t matter less.  
  
The moment he was turned upright again, Sam thrust his blade down, aiming for the blade to slice straight down into the skin under the hunter’s fingernail.  
  
A weak point.  
  


* * *

  
“God_dammit!_ ” Dean cursed at the sight of Jacob and Sam both bloodied. It was over with so fast, he’d barely realized what was happening before the man was slicing down on Jacob’s arm.  
  
Where _Sam_ was.  
  
Forgetting about the sprites and the plan to lie low until Bowman and Jacob were free, Dean yanked out his own knife, the matching brother to Sam's, ready to charge in.  
  
_Sam._  
  
Scar broke out of his wide-eyed reverie as soon as Dean moved. _No._ His thoughts barked at him that it was not the right moment, no matter how dire things were. Dean may be able to cover a lot of ground, but the other human didn't _need_ to if he wanted to hurt Sam or Bowman. The position was too risky.  
  
Scar darted off his branch and flew around the tree in the opposite direction to intercept Dean. He saw a fierce look in those green eyes. Hunter's eyes. Driven by instinct and the need to protect his own. Scar understood both. Despite the knife in Dean's hand and the intimidating aura all around him, Scar didn't falter.  
  
He flew in front of Dean, placing himself in the human's path with a hand held out. "_Stop._ Now is not the right time."  
  


* * *

  
Logan hissed out a cuss and his grasp loosened reflexively. His other hand was underneath the little thing in a heartbeat, ensuring it only fell a few inches. He didn't take any chances and closed his hand securely over the tiny man, hiding him in a fist. He could still feel that knife poking his palm, but he didn't add or remove any pressure.  
  
The tiny creature had nowhere to go, and they both knew it. Logan had complete control over him. It was almost impossible to tell he had anything in his fist at all.  
  
He lifted his stabbed finger to his eyes with a scowl, annoyed by the stinging cut there. "You little shit," he snarled, opening his hand and immediately pinning down Sam's blade arm with a finger. The knife was bloodied just as much as the little guy was. While the tiny form writhed and twisted and tried to wrench the arm free, Logan stared pensively at the knife. It was an impressive blade, for a toy.  
  
"Where the hell did you get something like that," he asked aloud, though it was clear from his condescending tone that he wasn't really speaking to Sam.  
  
Logan roughly shifted his hand to get the knife pinched in his fingers and yanked it away from his newest captive. He flicked it away and it fell to the grass, catching the sun once in a silver and red gleam before disappearing. With the weapon out of the equation, Logan turned his focus back to the small man. He was covered in blood, which had also naturally gotten on Logan's hands. It gave the little thing a devilish look, if he was honest with himself. Keen eyes wandered over his few inches, wondering how exactly such a creature could exist; at least the sprites had their foul magic. This thing didn’t appear to have anything going for it.  
  
On the ground, Bowman was frantic. His hands gripped the bars and he stared up. He couldn't see Sam from this angle, but he could see some blood on Logan's fingers. _Don't be hurt, oh Spirit don't let that be Sam's,_ he thought. If Sam lost that amount of blood, he'd be lucky to be alive.  
  
"Let him GO! Leave him alone!" Bowman hollered as loud as he could, even fluttering his wings and banging them against the side of the cage. Every ringing note stung his fragile bones and hung in the air. It didn't matter. His friend was in trouble and he wanted to _help_.  
  
Above, Logan sighed as if terribly put upon, and closed his fist around Sam once more.  
  
He lifted a boot and placed it on top of the cage, earning a cry of alarm from Bowman. "You don't get to make the demands around here, insect," Logan snapped. The metal squeaked and groaned as he added some pressure. Bowman ran to the corner of the cage, though the container was so small that it wouldn't matter. If Logan put his weight down, Bowman would be crushed.  
  
Seconds stretched on forever. Bowman memorized the tread pattern in the boot hovering above him, wondering if it’d be the last thing he ever saw. Dirt was packed into the treads and some small pieces of it rained down on him through the bars. The wires that formed the cage bent dangerously, looking like they’d collapse in at any second. Bowman’s breathing was rapid and he knew that there’d be nothing he could do to stop Logan, if he wanted to kill him.  
  
Bowman was too small and fragile, like a moth in a tornado.  
  
Logan smirked, satisfied with the frightened silence. The boot lifted away again when he stomped over to his bag. He stooped to grab a canteen from it, pulled the top off with his teeth, and opened up his hand again. Without giving the tiny would-be rescuer a chance to get his bearings, he poured water over his whole hand. Blood washed away with the liquid, falling to the grass below. It was easier to see the tiny thing this way.  
  
Replacing the lid and tossing the canteen aside, Logan made sure the little thing was pinned to his palm with a thumb over his little legs. He continued to ignore his other two prisoners as he frowned thoughtfully. This one didn't look quite like a sprite. Other than size, he looked almost _human._ Logan glanced over to the cage on the ground.  
  
No. It wouldn't suit. He determined that he'd need a clearer head to really figure out this strange little find, and this wasn't the place. He opened up a pocket on his shirt. Flipping his grip so he dangled the little guy by his trapped legs over the cloth enclosure, he gave him one last dismissive statement.   
  
"I'll deal with you later."  
  
He dropped Sam into his pocket and fastened it shut.  
  


* * *

  
Sam tumbled into the fabric confines with a strangled curse. By the time he collapsed at the bottom, the top was sealed shut to keep him inside. "Son of a _bitch!_ " he snapped angrily. He slammed a fist against the wall behind him, funneling all of his rage and anger into the blow.  
  
It did nothing of course. It would never do anything. He was too small.  
  
The thud of a heartbeat was a taunt now. He'd never been stuck in a pocket other than Dean's or Jacob's, and neither of them would ever trap him against his will like this. They never used their size against him or Bowman, unless it was genial, joking fun. Dean more than Jacob, of course. He loved to kid around, sometimes trapping Bowman in a pocket for fun just to see what kind of curses they could draw from the sprite. If his voice ever edged towards actual fear, the pocket would open right up.  
  
Because that's what friends _did._  
  
The water drenching his entire body, and his satchel, soaked into the fabric of the pocket. _Serves you right,_ he thought bitterly. The only bright side of the entire situation was, with a hunt on the horizon and their friends in danger, his journal wasn't in the bag. Everything else would survive the soaking in one piece. He just prayed he'd be able to find the knife after watching it spiral inexorably out of reach.  
  
After the human's disdainful removal of Sam's weapon, his entire arm ached. He wouldn't be getting out of this case without injuries. His entire chest felt compressed. The human had been a hair away from snapping a rib, and his grip on Sam's waist had been no better. The bruises he'd received from Jacob back then were nothing compared to this. He desperately hoped that Bowman wasn't injured like that. The sprite had gone through far worse.  
  
And _Jacob._ The asshat had sliced his arm open when he'd grabbed at Sam! The bloodstains remaining on his jacket were a testament to that. Sam clenched his fist in anger at the thought.  
  
And here he was. Stuck in a pocket with no way out. His knife gone along with any chance of slicing his way to freedom.  
  
Knife or not, Sam set to struggling against the top of the pocket, trying to unbutton it from the inside. At least his time trapped in Dean's for a joke had served him well. He was no stranger to the attempt. If he got out, he'd just have to be ready to dodge giant hands. The hook at his side, hanging out of his satchel with the barbed tips glimmering, would serve in more ways than one.  
  
Sam had no problem shoving it through a finger if he had to.  
  


* * *

  
Dean stared down at the sprite in his way. Everything in him wanted to shove right past Scar regardless, and there was no way for the smaller man to stop him. But he was held back by the fact that the sprites, as small as they were, _trusted_ him and Jacob, against all odds. One move made without thinking could shatter the fragile trust of a vulnerable people.  
  
Dean raised up his arm, holding himself at the ready. "Scar, _move,_" he snapped out a command, used to being in charge. "That's my _brother_ out there, and he needs my help!" All he could see in his mind's eye was Sam, covered in blood. Sam, crushed in a fist.   
  
Dean, too far away to help.  
  
Scar's dark green eyes flickered to the hand that lifted up a sharp knife ready to slice into its enemy. Whatever intimidation he might have felt didn't make it to his face. He flew even closer, resolutely staying in Dean's way. Even knowing Dean could swipe him out of the air at any given second, Scar held his stance.  
  
"Your brother is _alive_, and Bowman is _alive,_" Scar hissed back. He hated having his back turned on the enemy, but right now his biggest asset was also his biggest problem. Dean was the sprites' best bet at getting everyone out without further harm, but not if he charged in recklessly. "If you want to keep them that way then you will listen to _me,_ human." Scar pointed at himself with his thumb and seemed to become prouder. Scar, a member of a prey species, might be as far from a predator as a person could be, but he knew how to think like one.  
  
And these hunting grounds were _his,_ no matter how much experience Dean had with fighting.  
  
Pointing vaguely behind himself, he continued in a low voice. "You may be able to run fast but he's already there. What do you think he will do if he sees you running his way, hmm? He has had no problem hurting Bowman already and I will _not_ let you risk the boy further harm."  
  
Dean's eyes flashed from captive to captive, following with Scar's line of thought. Against his will.  
  
Sam was no more than a struggling lump in a pocket. The area around him was damp, the only way Dean could possibly know _which_ pocket he was in. So small and helpless that Dean could barely make out the shape of his small body against the backdrop of the hunter. Sam was helpless out there, not even a knife to help him escape from his dangerous prison.  
  
It would take the human seconds to kill him if he wanted to.  
  
Seconds to pull a gun on Jacob.  
  
Seconds to crush both Bowman and the cage he was in with a single stomp.  
  
"_Dammit!_ " Dean snarled under his breath. He slammed a fist into the tree next to where Scar was hovering. The way the bark of the tree sliced into his skin from the force didn't register at all, any pain of Dean's forgotten in the worry for his brother.  
  
Dean pointed his knife at Scar. "_Fine._ But the second there's an opening, I'm going in. No argument. This guy is _not_ going to enjoy what I have planned for him." A feral grin passed over his face, relishing the thought of what was in store for that hunter the moment his guard was down.  
  
One thing was certain; he was going to _pay_ for what he was putting Sam, Bowman and Jacob through.  
  
Scar kept his eyes on Dean's face, even though his instincts growled at him to watch that knife more closely. The blade could rend him in two with ease if it was in the wrong hands. Scar, seeing the determination in Dean's eyes,_ knew_ it was in the right ones. He didn't need to fear that knife, no matter that the point was aimed right at him.  
  
He nodded once. "Good." Flying higher so he was just above Dean's eye level, Scar added, "You'll have our support. We'll get them out of this. _All_ of them." The sprites didn't want Sam hurt any more than Bowman. He had helped them just as much as Dean. None of the captives would need to get hurt worse if things went as planned.  
  
"I am going to update the others on what to do." Scar patted the dart looped to his belt with his hand. "These darts are poisoned and we have many. We'll help you." With that said, Scar darted upwards and away, seeking out his other knights. The time for a fight was soon.  
  


* * *

  
Jacob was shaking. Rage coursed through him while blood continued to seep out of the cut on his arm. He'd been forced to watch, unable to help, while Sam was handled like a _toy,_ an inconsequential object of curiosity. While Bowman was treated like a bug, taunted with boots bigger than him. Jacob's eyes burned with rage and he was amazed that Dean hadn't come charging in yet.  
  
While Logan had been toying with Sam, Jacob had been hard at work. The ropes on his wrist may not have been severed, but Sam's knife, now lost in the grass somewhere, had frayed one of the knots considerably. Jacob could twist his wrist just enough to pinch the damaged rope. It would keep unraveling if he could just keep working at it.  
  
Logan was already getting back to business as usual. He unsheathed his own knife and, after wiping Jacob's blood off of it on his pants, knelt over Bowman's cage. Jacob could see the sprite shaking from where he sat. The fact that Bowman only stared up in fear, not a single snarky comment aimed up at the man that loomed tauntingly over him, made Jacob's heart flutter with his own brand of fear. Bowman didn't _deserve_ any of this. And yet he was too terrified of losing his wings to that knife to maintain his usual sass.  
  
While Logan teased Bowman by running the flat of the blade along the slightly warped bars of the cage, Jacob heaved with all the strength he had left in him on the weakened ropes.  
  
One knot snapped. And then, like a spring breaking, the whole thing came loose. Jacob got to his feet in a fluid motion and shrugged off the ropes on his raw wrists, one hopelessly bloodied from the cut on his arm. He tore the tape from his face and tossed it aside.   
  
And he advanced.  
  
Jacob had once stood at an inch and a half tall, completely helpless in such a huge world. Bowman, trapped in the cage, and Sam, trapped in the pocket, had kept him safe. They'd known the dangers that could exist from their own experiences as smaller folk. Jacob had them to thank for keeping him alive when he was tiny.  
  
Now, he was not tiny. Six foot five and muscular, trained for over a year by Dean Winchester, Jacob was not to be taken lightly. Logan tried to stand in surprise and draw his gun on the attacking teen, but one deft move knocked his arm aside. The gun fell from his stunned grip and Jacob kicked it away, thinking fast.  
  
He couldn't get lost in a fight with Logan. Knowing Sam was there and vulnerable, Jacob merely shoved the man bodily backwards. Logan, entirely surprised by the swift, ferocious attack from someone he'd deemed 'just a kid,' stumbled several steps.  
  
It was all Jacob needed to kneel and grab Bowman's cage in both hands. He lifted it to his chest, cradling it and muttering an apology to the captive inside for his quick movements. He was already backing off, knowing without a doubt that if Dean was waiting for an opening, this would be it.  
  


* * *

  
The second Jacob’s hands were on the cage, Dean was on the move.  
  
As dangerous as it was to attack with Sam still in the line of fire, there would be no better chance. The hunter had lost his gun. Jacob was free and had his hands on the cage containing the sprite, reducing the chances of collateral damage of a fight between the older hunters.  
  
Sam knew the risks as well as Dean.  
  
So while Jacob was backing off from the hunter with Bowman safe, Dean was already sprinting through the field. Long legs covered the ground that had taken Sam a half hour to cross in seconds. His boots dug fissures in the ground with the force of striking the ground, all to propel him towards his enemy. It was enough that if any of the sprites were in his way, there would be nothing left of them.  
  
But they knew when to keep clear and when to attack. Scar was a good leader, and would see his opening just as Dean had found his.  
  
The hunter hadn’t fully turned in Dean’s direction when there was suddenly a fist slamming into his jaw. Dean didn’t waste a second in his attack. The man was thrown backwards from the force, and his pocket slammed away with him. Only a passing guilt hit at the fact that Sam was about to be in the center of two dueling humans. He would do what he could to keep Sam safe, even during the deadly fight.  
  
It was for this reason that he didn’t use his knife right off the bat. Instead of a vicious follow-up, Dean’s hands sealed around the other hunter’s wrist, preventing him from falling at the same time as he prevented a counterattack. Either could be disastrous for Sam.  
  
“You think you can come in here and terrify a bunch of peaceful sprites?” Dean snarled. “Threaten to cut their wings off and trap them in cages? This forest is under _my _protection.”  
  
A flurry of leaves blew up around them as the wind kicked up.

“Mine. And _theirs_.”

Chapter artwork by [jayadawnyvonne-art!](https://jayadawnyvonne-art.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time everyone has been waiting for has come!
> 
> This chapter has a lot of really tight, intense moments. From Sam caught by Logan, to Dean and Scar's standoff, this is action from start to finish. And now Dean's leash is off, and the sprites are backing him up!
> 
> **Next: **December 1st, 2019 at 9pm
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


	5. The Flurry

Bowman watched with awe as sprites, almost twenty of them, flurried around Dean in a careful formation.

Chapter artwork by [jayadawnyvonne-art!](https://jayadawnyvonne-art.tumblr.com/)

Logan was dazed by the blow to his face, but the sight of so many sprites cooperating with another human almost had him shaking with rage and confusion. Bowman nearly forgot that he was in a cage for a moment.  
  
And then Jacob's hand, the one clean of blood, was grasping the latch. The door was barely open before Bowman hopped out onto Jacob's palm, almost collapsing with grateful relief. His whole body hurt and he was still trembling with fear, but as that cage was discarded and kicked away, Bowman knew he was in safe hands again.  
  
After only a few seconds of rest, Bowman picked himself up again. He glanced at Jacob. The human watched him with concern, ignoring the grappling match Dean had begun with Logan in favor of checking on his friend. Bowman fluttered his wings cautiously, making sure nothing was broken in them, before darting off Jacob's hand.  
  
Within seconds he vanished into the storm of sprites sweeping around the colossal figures of Logan and Dean, some occasionally leaving scratches on the former with their swords as they supported the latter.  
  


* * *

  
Scar was glad to see that Bowman was well enough to join in the fight, though he kept an eye on the boy's flight for a few extra seconds. Bowman was clearly exhausted after all of the abuse, and would need to be careful. At least he'd gotten an extra couple of darts from someone and was waiting for his chance to bury them in Logan's back. The enormous humans' struggle kept the sprites safe from Logan's blade, but their movements as they fought for the upper hand made it impossible to land an easy strike on Logan.  
  
All the power in their attack lay in Dean's hands. He needed to be able to hit harder, but Scar knew why he couldn't-- and _wouldn't_. Sam was stuck and the hunter would not chance an offensive battle with his brother in danger. Scar narrowed his eyes and broke away from the formation. He darted back and forth over the tall grass, searching the ground. He _knew_ he had seen it fall somewhere ...   
  
There. A glimmer in the sun drew Scar's gaze like a beacon and he dove without a second thought. He found the knife on the ground, almost hidden entirely by a tuft of grass. Dried blood caked the blade and only part still shone enough for Scar to have seen it.   
  
_Spirit, continue to bless us,_ Scar thought as he shot out of the grass again. His next move was going to be bold and stupidly risky, but it needed to be made.  
  
Scar flew _between_ the two fighting humans and right towards Logan's chest. A single shift between the two humans would be all it took to crush him and Sam from existence. He found the pocket that was still a little darker from the water soaked into it, and latched onto the button with a hand. His wings fluttered awkwardly as the body moved around, and he had to brace his boots on the fabric too. How Sam was faring inside such a jostled enclosure, Scar could only guess.  
  
"Sam!" he called, before finding the edge of the pocket and slipping the knife past the flap. He couldn't reach into the pocket very far or risk being thrown, but he was confident that Sam would be able to stand at least long enough to reach the weapon and his chance at escaping his prison.  
  


* * *

  
The entire time, Sam was tossed from side to side.  
  
There had been no warning before Dean’s attack. One second Logan was shoved backwards by Jacob, and the next, the hunter was thrown off balance by a vicious attack.  
  
The rumble of the loud voice overhead had made Sam realize what was happening.  
  
Dean was _attacking_.  
  
Closing his eyes, Sam waited out the attack.  
  
There was nothing else for him to do. The hunters both towered overhead. A single stray move on either part would either crush him or cripple him. If Logan remembered he was there, he’d have leverage over Dean. That couldn’t happen. None of them could afford that.  
  
Little did Sam know that despite the tumultuous moments of that first attack, Dean was holding back. He held off Logan’s arms, preventing the other hunter from wielding his knife against the sprites that surrounded them like a whirlwind of leaves, and preventing him from grabbing at Sam.  
  
Sam glanced up, his fingers dug as deeply into the thick fabric of the pocket as he could to stay balanced. “Scar?” he called out in surprise. Considering he was at the center of the fight, the _last_ thing he’d expect was a sprite.  
  
Then his knife dropped in.  
  
Sam leapt at it, his hands falling naturally into the grip Dean had shown him. His hazel eyes glittered dangerously.  
  
Now, he could do something.  
  


* * *

  
Outside the pocket, they couldn’t see what was happening.  
  
Between the broad, sweeping movements of the humans as they grappled, and the green flurry of wings that surrounded them, the movement against Logan’s chest was almost unnoticeable.  
  
The second a glint of silver slashed through the fabric, Dean’s eyes were drawn inexorably to the struggle Sam was going through, only inches away.  
  
Yet completely out of reach if he hoped to control the other hunter.  
  
The rip became a tear, and Sam’s boots were visible. The moment the hole was large enough, the smaller hunter dove out of the pocket, rappelling down using his fishing line and hook. The hook he may have shoved into the fabric of the shirt and as far into the human’s skin as he could manage as payback for being treated like a toy.  
  
Despite the fight, Dean almost held his breath as Sam’s journey continued. Towering, looming legs moved around him, and he dropped to the ground, almost vanishing into the grass.  
  
The second Sam let go of the rope, Dean’s tactics took a complete 180.  
  
Instead of grappling with the other human, he slammed his head forward to knock the man back, away from Sam. Dean dove overhead, putting space between the fight and Sam, and lunged viciously with a fist.   
  
The fight raged on.  
  


* * *

  
Jacob couldn't follow which sprite was which. He occasionally saw Bowman in the storm of sprites, but they were all moving so quickly that it was tough to keep him in sight for more than a second. Dean was the only person not distracted from the fight, a laser focus on his wrestling match with Logan. Even Logan was half-distracted by them, enough that when a vicious punch slammed into his face, he stumbled farther than he otherwise might have done.  
  
That was when Jacob noticed why Dean had suddenly gone on the offensive.  
  
Sam, four inches tall and shorter than the grass in the clearing, was on the ground. He'd somehow managed to break free and slide down his hanging fishing line to the forest floor. Jacob almost grinned, but the sight of one of Dean's boots slamming down to the ground mere feet away brought him back to reality. Jacob knew all too well what that boot looked like from a perspective closer to Sam's, and he had to fight back a wave of terrified memories. It would only take one slip up and Sam wouldn't stand a chance.  
  
He surged forward himself, wary of the combatants, but focused on getting Sam to safety. His hands cupped under the small form as carefully as he could in his haste and he immediately brought Sam close to his chest for protection from further jostling while he shuffled back.  
  
"Thank God," Jacob breathed, looking over his small friend for injuries.  
  


* * *

  
Bowman ached all over, but he knew he had a job to do. He spotted an opening and swooped towards Logan, planting his last dart in a forearm thicker than he was tall, and that Bowman might not even be able to wrap his wings all the way around. The muscles underneath twitched as poison irritated and slowed them, sapping just a little more of Logan's strength as he and Dean fought.  
  
Swerving away, Bowman glanced at the ground. Sam was not there anymore. His bright green eyes found Jacob, his enormous hands cupped protectively around someone, and Bowman allowed himself to feel relieved.  
  
Sam's climbing rope still swung haphazardly from Logan's pocket, ignored by the human for the moment. Any sting from that barbed hook in his skin was too inconsequential compared to the battle that raged between him and Dean. Dean, with the element of surprise on his side, had gained a lot of ground early that Logan was having difficulty winning back.  
  
Bowman flew higher, keeping a vigil on the fight since he was out of weapons. Logan was slipping, slowly but surely. The madness in his eyes was gaining a desperate glint. His face alone was enough to send a shudder down Bowman’s spine. His knife was still gripped in a solid fist, thankfully left useless by Dean's own grip around the man's wrist.  
  
A flash of green came closer to the fighting humans out of the whirling formation of knights again. Bowman watched his fellow sprite dodge around a swing of the giant arms and realized that Lord Scar himself hovered near Logan's knife arm.  
  
And then, using both arms for leverage, Scar buried a dart on the underside of Logan's arm, near the vein. His triumphant grin was recognizable anywhere, even as Logan's arm spasmed away from him in surprised pain.  
  
Things seemed to slow down. With a yell of rage that nearly deafened Bowman and sent some of the other sprites scattering, Logan wrenched his arm free of Dean's grip at last. But instead of turning that ghastly knife on his largest attacker like he should have, he slashed it vindictively at the knight closest to him.  
  
"No!" Bowman yelped.  
  
Lord Scar looked up in time to see a blade slicing through the air and aiming for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More blood. And lots of fighting! This fight is heating up!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next: **December 4th, 2019 at 9pm


	6. Just Deserts

Time continued to slow down as the knife sliced through the air, angling for its mark.  
  
Dean caught his balance from Logan's angry rebuttal. His boot slammed into the ground, only taking a second to regroup before tossing himself back at his opponent. The sprites swirled around him like a ripple in the water. Their attacks with the poison darts had slowed Logan down, while Dean was still at full strength.  
  
A second before that knife would have hit its mark and cut Scar in two, Dean's hand was on Logan's arm again. This time, he used his momentum to twist it behind Logan's back as far as it could go. His knee hit Logan in the stomach as he pressed his advantage and gave Scar time to dart out of their way once more.  
  
With the other human reeling, Dean twisted his wrist further. Clawed fingers sprang open, releasing the knife. The moment it hit the earth, Dean kicked it away from the fight, out of range of either fighter.  
  
Logan, losing strength every second that the poison flowed into his veins and with every daring attack by the sprites that surrounded them in a green cloud.  
  
Dean, emboldened by the memory of his brother, clutched in a stranger's hands and covered in blood. _Jacob's_ blood, just to save a few seconds in the search for Sam. Trapped in a pocket until he'd got his hands back on his knife.   
  
The memory of Bowman, huddled in a corner afraid that his wings were going to be cut off. That knife tauntingly sliding across the metal of the cage.  
  
Dean's fist slammed into Logan's jaw. This time, after an entire battle and now far weaker than Dean, he fell to the ground. Another punch slammed into him.   
  
Followed by another.  
  
The whirlwind of green came to an abrupt halt as soon as Logan hit the ground. Knights hovered in the air where they'd stopped, watching with some alarm as Dean took the advantage and held it. Many had already moved to the fringe of the formation after running out of darts, and some were backing away from the sight.  
  
Dean was _vicious._ Anyone would have a healthy respect for that look on his face.  
  
Of course, respect or not, Bowman could see that Logan was knocked out, or close enough to it. But Dean kept right on hitting him, pent up rage fueling every powerful strike. A single blow like that would shatter a sprite and Logan had taken far more than just one.   
  
Bowman knew Dean couldn't abide people like Logan. He hadn't been merciful on the last human that trapped Bowman and Sam. At least that guy hadn't threatened to _crush_ the cage.   
  
Each blow thrown echoed throughout the canopy.  
  
Bowman drifted downwards in a tight spiral until he was just above Dean's eye level. "Dean," he said steadily, hoping to reach the hunter. His voice tentatively shifted back into his usual snarky tone. "Spirit's dance, Dean, he's out."  
  
The soft voice at the edge of hearing pierced through the battle haze that surrounded Dean. A red cloud of anger started to clear from his vision, letting him _see_ the condition his opponent was in. Bloodied, bruised...  
  
Broken.  
  
The other hunter was collapsed on the ground, out cold. Purple contusions marred his face wherever Dean's fist had made contact, and his nose was bloodied. It was clear he wouldn't be a threat to them until he managed to wake from the Dean-induced coma.  
  
Dean stumbled to his feet, going to wipe the sweat from his eyes with a hand. He froze when he saw the blood caking it, matching the blood that gushed from Logan's nose.  
  
Twitchy, he tried to wipe the offending blood onto his jacket, wanting it _off_. Anything to forget the way he'd almost lost himself in the fight. A mindset like that was dangerous to fall into when his allies were more vulnerable around him than his enemy. Sam and the sprites both. The sprites themselves hovered around the battlefield, clearly unsettled by the sight of such violence.  
  
A pacifist race like they were wouldn't be prepared to see such a savage fight, and they certainly wouldn't expect it to go on after one of the combatants was clearly down and out.  
  
Realizing he hadn't seen his brother since Sam had dropped from his line to the dangerous ground between the fighters, a real worry rose up in him. He glanced around the clearing, searching for the small form in the grass.  
  
"Sam?" Dean called out hesitantly, hoping against hope he hadn't made a fatal mistake.  
  
Jacob stepped forward, glad to see that Dean had managed to get through that fight without getting any injuries himself. His ferocious advance combined with help from the sprites hovering all around had distracted his opponent enough. Dean's victory had come in minutes, even if it felt like it stretched on for hours.  
  
Of course, it didn't hurt that Logan was arrogant. He'd expected no resistance from such small people, and with Jacob out of the way the only human threat he knew of was neutralized. Logan's power trip over Bowman and Sam had made him complacent.  
  
"He's right here," Jacob announced, holding out his cupped hands so Dean could see his tiny brother, mostly unscathed by the events. The desperate relief that passed over Dean’s face at the sight of his brother safely standing there highlighted how terrified he’d been that Sam had been caught up in the fight.  
  
Bowman, once again feeling the strain of his nightmarish day, glided down to Jacob's outstretched hands. He landed near the human's wrists and folded his wings loosely at his back, crouching a little for balance. "That was all pretty bold of you, Sam," he pointed out. "I suppose it would only be stupid if it hadn't worked, huh?"  
  
Sam jerked his head in acknowledgement. “It was either that or sit around in the middle of a fight. I didn’t want to cost Dean the struggle, especially the way he was holding back while I was trapped. Scar gave me a chance, and I dove at it.” Though it was hard to believe that the titanic struggle he’d endured would be classified as _holding back,_ the truth of that statement was certainly displayed in the savage ending of the fight.  
  
Dean leaned over. He tugged the hook Sam had abandoned out of Logan’s shirt, noticing the way blood caked the area. It had a certain poetic justice that Sam had anchored his hook to his captor himself and rappelled down, bloodying Logan with every move. Dean had a feral grin at the thought.  
  
He handed the hook off to Sam, but didn’t move to take his brother back yet. He had work to do, and it was better that Sam wasn’t close to him while he was doing it.  
  
With a grunt of effort, Dean threw the second hunter over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. They couldn’t risk the man waking up and escaping, maybe finding his way to the village before they could track him back down.  
  
Logan was tossed against the tree Jacob had been secured to. Dean was able to gather up enough coils to fashion a crude knot around the other man’s wrists. That finished, he went through the other man’s clothing in search of weapons. A set of keys was tossed to the side, and a wallet was found in another pocket, but aside from that, nothing.  
  
“Overconfident, much?” Dean asked the prone form of the other hunter.  
  
He opened up the wallet, rifling through it. “Logan Guthrie,” he read out loud from the driver’s license. A few credit cards and some cash. Dean smirked at the thought of using up the guy’s funds.  
  
After all, where this ‘Logan’ was going, he wouldn’t need them anymore. Not if Dean had his way.  
  
Dean tossed the wallet to the side with the keys. “Guess he wasn’t expecting resistance,” he said to the others over his shoulder. “Not even a hidden knife to help cut himself free.”  
  
"Huh, guess he wasn't," Jacob echoed, thinking back to the ambush. It had happened so quickly. That net gun had taken Bowman out of the air with ease, and the surprise attack had been enough to subdue Jacob long enough to secure him to the tree. Jacob doubted that Logan even expected to meet another human out here.  
  
He was so glad he was here, because if Logan had come to Wellwood the day before, the sprites would be defenseless out here. Bowman might have been mutilated for the rest of his life, which would have been spent in a tiny cage. And who knew how many others would have been caught? Or even killed?  
  
With his two smaller friends safe in his hands, Jacob sighed and sat down in the grass. He might have offered to help Dean with Logan, but his own exhaustion was showing clearly. All the adrenaline from the day's events was slowly filtering out of him as it realized it had no use in his bloodstream.  
  
Other sprites spiraled to the ground around him, landing in the grass with a flick of the wings here, a stretch of the arms there. Scar, the brave little sprite that had driven his dart deeper into Logan's skin than any other, landed on Jacob's bent knee.  
  
"When he wakes, you'll be able to handle him?" Scar asked, straight to business as always.  
  
Jacob nodded. "We'll make sure he's not going to hurt anyone else, okay?" Jacob glanced around at the other sprites gathered near him. "Wellwood's safe from him."  
  
Dean shot a grin back at them. “Not only the Wellwood, but _everyone._ I’ve got a plan to keep him from hurting anyone else, ever again.”  
  
Clapping his hands on his knees, Dean stood with a stretch. “Back in a flash.”  
  
Stepping away, he cautiously picked his way through the grass, avoiding sprites that were coming down from the adrenaline of the battle. For them, it had been a fight of titanic beings, as close to a war as they’d hopefully ever come. He didn’t put his boots down anywhere he couldn’t see to the ground, wary of missing a set of bright green wings in the landscape. Those wings were meant to blend into the forest background, keeping the sprites safe from predators.  
  
He made his way over to where he’d left his duffel bag before the fight and grabbed it. In no time at all, he was back in the clearing, carefully searching for a large enough area to put the bag down.  
  
With that settled, Dean knelt down next to Jacob. “Alright pint-size, c’mon,” he said, gesturing. “We’ve got to fix up the Sasquatch before he gets himself into any more trouble.”  
  
Sam stepped onto his outstretched hand, resigned to being checked over for injuries before anything else, and indeed, the first thing that happened was he was lifted up in front of the intense green eyes.   
  
“I’m _fine_, Dean. Just bruises.” Sam tried unsuccessfully to push Dean’s fingers away.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, but let Sam off onto his shoulder. Jacob got an expectant look once the younger Winchester was settled.   
  
It was his turn.  
  
Jacob raised his eyebrows, and then glanced down at his arm when it gave a stinging reminder of his own injury. He winced slightly as he clearly remembered that cold metal so easily cutting through his sleeve and his arm. His entire sleeve was drenched with drying blood and matted against his skin.  
  
Bowman fluttered off of Jacob's hands so he could lift the injured arm higher. Jacob pursed his lips and peeled back the torn sleeve, his hand curling into a fist by reflex as the fabric came away from the cut. Bowman and Scar, the sprites closest to him, balked at the sight.  
  
The cut would be enough to cleave a sprite in two. The bleeding had slowed, and Jacob's arm was heavy. Knights on the ground around him shifted their feet anxiously. It was so bizarre and unsettling to see such enormous injuries. The knights may be equipped with swords, but they'd never be able to create a wound of that scale.  
  
"Yikes," Jacob said aloud, raising a disdainful eyebrow at the cut. "This is gonna hurt like a bitch," he added, thinking he had a pretty good idea of what Dean had planned to take care of the injury. It could be a lot worse, at least, and he held onto that thought.  
  
Dean took his arm in hand. "You don't know the half of it," he said as he saw how wide the cut was. He took a bottle of water from the duffel and poured it over the cut to clean it, giving them all a better look at the injury.  
  
Wide, and open. It would need pressure if they wanted to avoid the blood flow starting up again. Dean grabbed a t-shirt from his bag and wrapped it around the cut. "Hold onto this," he mumbled at Jacob. He needed to get his first aid kit out.  
  
With Jacob keeping pressure on the wound, he dug through to the bottom of his bag. Putting in stitches wasn't his favorite thing to do, but it would be a hell of alot easier to put them in Jacob compared to himself. And if Sam was the one injured like that, Dean didn't even want to think of the fact that there wasn't much they could do for the smaller hunter. They'd have to seek help from the sprites and hope they could reach the healers in time.  
  
He got out a needle, black thread (Jacob was in luck; the last time he'd done this there had been no thread and he'd been forced to sew himself up with floss), and his flask of whiskey. Dean took the shirt off the wound and put that to the side in case they needed it again. The injured area of Jacob's arm got doused in whiskey to kill off any infection, and he also poured the whiskey over the equipment he was using, just to be certain he'd reduce the risk of getting Jacob infected.  
  
Dean dug a second shirt out of his bag and balled it up. He held it out to Jacob. "You... might want something to bite down on," he warned.  
  
Bowman stared upwards at the bunched up shirt that hovered over him. He was briefly aware that Scar had left Jacob's knee, landing in the grass near the few knights remaining in the clearing. Even as Jacob took the shirt in his other hand, Bowman glanced over and saw the knight in charge give him a look. He nodded distractedly, understanding the very clear _Report any problems immediately_ in his expression. Thus assured that everyone was safe again, Scar and the last few knights left for home to spread the relieving news.  
  
Bowman absently thought that, after all this, his aunt would kill him for not returning home right away. But he had to stay near, especially as he watched Dean prepare a needle and thread.  
  
The silvery needle was almost half Bowman's length, and it looked very sharp indeed. Before Jacob could wind up some of the cloth to take Dean's advice, Bowman fluttered into the air and fixed him with an incredulous look. "Really?! You're just gonna blasted let him sew you up like torn cloth? There's no way that'd work."  
  
Jacob rolled his eyes and smirked. "It's a human thing," he said, as if that excused his insanity. That excuse never satisfied Bowman's curiosity and he had a feeling the human knew that.  
  
Bowman huffed in frustration and glided to the shoulder of the injured arm, peering down at the wound critically. Looking across at Dean, he asked, "Will this really work?!"  
  
Dean nodded distractedly. "Oh, it'll work," he answered. "I've done it to myself more than once, and learned it from my dad. It won't be pleasant, though. Not by a long shot."  
  
With the needle ready, he took Jacob's arm in a solid hold. He needed to keep it from flinching at the wrong moment, and making the needle plunge into the wrong place. "I wouldn't recommend trying it on you or Sam," he finished dryly as Jacob bit down on the cloth. "The thread's too thick for you. And then there's the needle, of course." Dean glanced up before he started, meeting the small, bright green eyes that watched his every move with concern. "Just watch yourself, alright? You don't want to get knocked off if he flinches. I'll take good care of him."  
  
He started in on the wound, a look of extreme concentration on his face as the needle pierced the skin for the first time. The initial part wouldn't hurt, since the skin on the outside of the gash would be going numb. It was once Dean reached the middle of the wound that Jacob would feel it.  
  
The area was silent as everyone watched his careful work. Even though he stayed carefully anchored on Dean's shoulder, Sam couldn't help leaning off to watch the sliced skin slowly come together. At his size, if anyone ever got injured like that, they'd need to wrap it up as best they could. It was almost impossible to get thread small enough to suture it shut, even though Mallory had what must be near-microscopic splinters of metal that she worked with when she was making clothing for her 'tall boys.'  
  
With the wound sealed halfway shut, Dean had to pause and wipe the sweat from his eyes. It had been a long time since he'd done stitches; over a year now, since before he'd reunited with Sam.  
  
The end went smoothly. He tied the end with a swift knot, then sliced off the rest of the thread. He glanced up at Jacob to see how the younger hunter was faring with his encounter with battlefield medicine. "Hoping for a scar?" Dean joked as he poured more whiskey on the wound, killing off any infection that had snuck up on them while he was working.  
  
Jacob's answer was cut short as the whiskey seeped into his cut, stinging as fiercely as the first time. He heard Bowman cough quietly from the strong smell of the alcohol, and was momentarily glad he wasn't small enough for the scent to make him heady. He remembered that feeling all too well from his time tinier than Sam and Bowman. The smell of rubbing alcohol had hit him with all the subtlety of a cinder block.  
  
"A scar would be pretty badass," Jacob finally said with a smirk. While Dean retrieved some gauze to wrap around the now sutured and cleaned wound, Jacob reached up to his shoulder with his free hand, scooping Bowman into his hand with a loose grasp. The sprite fluttered against his fingers until he flattened his palm in front of himself. He landed in something of a heap, his wings tangled beneath him in his surprise.  
  
"Blast it, human," Bowman grumbled, squirming around until he could sit upright. Jacob was amazed that he could do that. Pick up the small sprite and not receive fear, instead getting almost burned by a scathing glance. Jacob's hands were so huge compared to Bowman and Sam, and yet they both trusted him to hold them safely. Even after what they'd been through so many times since he'd met them.  
  
It was with that kind of reverence in mind that Jacob asked "And how about you, Bowman? You didn't get any serious injuries, did you?" Jacob's thumb brushed against one of Bowman's wings carefully, feeling the leafy membrane there. He made sure to avoid the tiny finger bones in the wing-- he'd learned that they could be extra painful when sore. The sounds they had made ringing against the bars of the cage almost made Jacob wince just from the memory.  
  
Bowman looked surprised for a moment, and then looked over himself. His clothes were bedraggled, and there were some faint purple bruises on his face and, Jacob assumed, all over the rest of him. At least the sprite didn't seem to have any breaks or open cuts.  
  
The all-important wings opened up, fanning around so they rested on Bowman's lap. He ran his hands carefully over them, checking for sprains. "I don't think so," he guessed. Thank the Spirit nothing was broken.  
  
Taking Jacob’s arm back, Dean finished wrapping his arm. It covered up the sutures and would keep Jacob from getting them caught on anything. He’d have to change the bandages a few times, but the wound should heal without any complications. If Jacob visited the healers before leaving the forest, he’d be able to get an extra head start on his recovery.  
  
Finished, Dean let go of the arm and tucked the first aid supplies back into the bag. “We got lucky,” he said seriously. And they had-- if Dean and Sam had arrived a little later, Bowman might be alive, but he wouldn’t have his wings anymore. If Sam had happened into the path of the battling titans, he might not be alive. The crazed hunter could have shot Jacob at anytime.  
  
For the first time, they’d gotten off light.  
  
He chuckled as a thought came to him. “The only person that’s going to have any _lasting_ effect from this in the end will be that douchenozzle Logan.”  
  
Bowman looked over his shoulder and Jacob glanced up at about the same time. While Bowman returned quickly enough to preening his precious wings, Jacob was curious. Dean had all the looks about him of someone planning something mischievous. Jacob glanced once at Logan, who still slumped unconscious in front of the tree, before finally giving in and asking the million dollar question. "Whatcha got planned for him?"  
  
Dean rifled through the bag and gave Jacob a wink. “I think he’s earned his _just deserts_ after everything he’s put the sprites through. If we let him go, he might come right on back here. Or bother a different village if he can find them, or even Sam's people now that he knows they exist. There’s no way for us to keep an eye on him.”  
  
He lifted his hand out of the bag with a triumphant grin. “Unless we make sure he can’t ever hurt them again by making _him_ know what it’s like to be small enough to step on. Or stuff in a pocket.”  
  
He was holding half of a mushroom.   
  
Courtesy of the trickster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a reason this story is 14 chapters long...
> 
> Dean is a hoarder. Sam can attest. He hangs on to_ everything._
> 
> CW for harsh fight scenes and blood.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next: **December 8th, 2019 at 9pm


	7. The Trickster's Gift

"Holy _shit,_" Jacob blurted, the sight of that mushroom surprising him more than anything else he thought Dean might decide.  
  
It didn't look very special at all, but Jacob knew what it was without a doubt. It was the stupid mushroom that had caused them all such trouble months ago. Just a bit of it had left Jacob at a ridiculously vulnerable size, making him an ideal plaything for that damn trickster. The things he went through still replayed behind his eyes sometimes, leaving Jacob with exhausted headaches just from trying to hold off the memories.  
  
And here it was, a proposed punishment for the asshole that might have otherwise destroyed an entire village of innocents. Jacob's self-doubt and worry that he'd truly deserved his extra tiny punishment aside, here was a man who really had earned justice like that. Poetic, absolute, and sound.  
  
"Dude. I can't believe you just carry that thing around," Jacob quipped, a faint chuckle escaping him. Dean having it provided the perfect way to make sure Logan never bothered a sprite again. All without just doing the worst and killing the guy.  
  
That mushroom had been touted as a way to "teach Jacob a lesson." Jacob was taunted and hurt and nearly killed multiple times just by virtue of being too small for the world. Just like Logan had tried to do to Bowman. The sprite, still preening on Jacob's hand, had never seemed so small to Jacob as he did with that bastard threatening him. He hadn't even shuddered as much when he mistakenly thought Dean and Jacob were going to eat him.  
  
"But hey, guess it's a good thing you do," he decided.  
  
No sooner had Jacob said so than a low groan emitted from the prisoner in question. Right on cue, Logan sluggishly lifted his head, squinting around through what had to be a massive headache. The bruises on his face were turning nasty shades of purple, and as he slowly gathered his bearings and scowled it left him with a strange, ghastly countenance.  
  
In Jacob's hand, Bowman stiffened. His wings folded tightly to his back, especially when those keen brown eyes swept over the scene and narrowed at him. Jacob subconsciously held his hand closer, even knowing Logan couldn't escape his bindings.  
  
The prisoner finally looked to Dean, the only one who he had a mite of respect for, if only because of his fighting skill. He still regarded the other hunter like he was garbage in the gutter. "I see the little vermin have you both good and trained," he spat.  
  
Dean coolly arched an eyebrow at Logan. “Trained?” He glanced down at Sam, sitting calmly on a shoulder, then back at Logan. “He can’t be talking about _me,_ can he?”  
  
Sam wrinkled his nose. “He wouldn’t say that if he ever saw the socks you leave in the sink,” he complained loudly, not showing any of the pain that he still felt in his arm from having his knife grabbed away. At least that was safe and sound, tucked back into his jacket in the hidden sheath. “I mean, _really_. Who leaves socks in the _sink_, of all places?”  
  
Neither brother let any sign of what they were really thinking slip by the facade they were wearing with Logan awake. Dean was wearing his professional poker face, and Sam’s expression might have more emotion showing, but at his size it didn’t matter as much.  
  
Dean curled his hand around the mushroom out of Logan’s line of sight, hiding it in his pocket for the moment. They needed to be good and ready for when the moment came.  
  
Jacob had to suppress a snicker at the perplexed look that washed over Logan's face like a tide. He didn't do a good job concealing his laughter. "Wow, you _really_ believe all that garbage you were talking about earlier, don't you?" Jacob wasn't fazed by the glare he got. Logan, now that he was tied to that tree and neutralized, couldn't be threatening in any way.  
  
He was helpless against what Dean had in store, and after the plan went through ... he'd be helpless against everything else, too.  
  
"Yes I do," Logan hissed, glancing with disgust over Bowman, who glared right back with all the willpower he had. Logan's eyes settled on Sam, the strange human-like but sprite-scaled thing on the other guy's shoulder. So casually sitting up there, making fun of a man who could crush him with a finger, or brush him to the ground without even a second thought.  
  
It burned Logan up to see those little things acting so _arrogant._ "Maybe I had it backwards and they're your pets. It doesn't matter. They have their place and if you weren't so blind to their manipulations, you'd realize it."  
  
Bowman got to his feet on Jacob's palm. His wings flared out even as he clenched his fists at his sides, enraged by the comment. "We are _not_ pets, to _anybody,_ you foul, mushroom-growing stump. You're _wrong._" Bowman only got an unsettling sneer in return, a condescending look so complete that many would falter under it. Bowman was more stubborn than that, though, and he kept his head held high.  
  
Logan's angry words didn't faze either brother, and neither did his dark glares at Sam. In fact, Dean chuckled, a dark sound from his normal lightheartedness. "Well, Sammy. It doesn't sound like he likes you sitting on my shoulder very much." Dean leaned forward, meeting Logan glare for glare. "But hey. Who gives a _damn_ what he thinks. After all, you're my _brother_ and he's just some lowlife who wants to hurt a bunch of innocents."  
  
Not even Sam flinched at the bright brown eyes that stared straight through him condescendingly. Dean's intense gaze, which he was exposed to every day of his life, had numbed the effect of other people's glares. Even if Logan found a way out of his bindings, he'd be stopped in seconds. He didn't have any weapons, and Dean was packing. The colt stuck in his pants was just one of the many weapons within reach the moment things went south. Now that Sam wasn't in danger, there was nothing stopping him from using them.  
  
"So tell me, Logan," Sam broke in. "What makes a _hunter_," this was said in his own condescending tone of voice, clearly doubting that Logan deserved the title, "want to go after a bunch of innocents that wouldn't even hurt a fly?"  
  
Logan scoffed, practically oozing self-righteousness as he sat up straighter. " ‘Innocents?’ Is that what they told you?" he asked, his eyes settling pointedly on Bowman again. He still had no idea what to think of Sam, so he focused his angry glares on the one he _knew_ he hated. Bowman stopped flaring his wings, flicking them angrily and folding them instead.  
  
"I don't need to tell them anything. They figured it out a while ago, you're just late," Bowman snapped, crossing his arms. Even when Dean and Jacob _had_ kept him captive, they hadn't actively threatened him or tried to hurt him. With people _actually dying_ in the woods, they at least had an excuse ready (Bowman had never liked their reasoning, but he had forgiven them for it all the same).  
  
Jacob chimed in this time, more than annoyed that Logan kept glaring around like he was still in charge. Like he wasn't a psychotic mess tied to a tree awaiting his verdict. Little did he know, his fate was already sealed. "Bowman here has saved all our asses before, we all owe him our respect at _least,_" he pointed out.  
  
" 'Innocents' is right," Dean interjected sternly. He wasn't about to listen to lies about the sprites. "I've seen a lot of crazy in my life. These sprites definitely don't qualify as 'harmful' or 'dangerous,' at least as long as you don't mind a bit of back talk from them. But I'm betting you didn't bother trying to talk when you got here, past interrogating Bowman. That sprite you seem to hate so much would risk himself to save his friends, even before he knew us all that well."  
  
Dean sat back. "Get comfy. You're gonna be here awhile. Can't have you going off to terrorize innocents again. Who knows who you'll find next time." A ghost of a smile flickered over Dean's face at the thought of Logan's soon-to-be fate. It wouldn't be long until that hunter wouldn't reach his ankles, and then he'd be no threat to anyone. Even Sam would be able to subdue the hunter without a problem, especially after all the combat lessons he'd worked on with Dean.  
  
Logan scowled and shifted, trying the strength of the ropes at his wrists. They would hold fast, and even if he could manage to work his way out of them, his self-appointed guards would stick around to watch him closely. He was good and stuck, somehow bested in his one-man mission to put some sprites in their place. The little leaf-winged rat on the kid's hand deserved no better, Logan was fanatically sure.  
  
The would-be hunter slumped, not from defeat but from exasperation. He stared coldly at Dean, trying to decide what he thought the man implied. No matter how he looked at it, Logan didn't see this ending well for him, but no matter what they did, he'd never go without giving them a fight.  
  
"What, gonna just let me starve here? Or maybe hope the wolves wander in and find me first, and let them do your dirty work? Clever," he grumbled derisively. Jacob rolled his eyes at the suggestions, but Logan wasn't any less convinced than before. What else could they mean? One way or another they'd kill him. It was what he would do, after all.  
  
Dean snorted. "Maybe if I was anything like _you,_" he shot back at the other hunter. "I won't have your blood on my hands, or on theirs. The sprites are _pacifists._ They'd never leave a person out to starve like that."  
  
Dean took his hand out of his pocket and flicked the remains of the shrinking mushroom up in the air, catching it in one easy motion. Sam watched the flight of the fungus warily. It was about his size, and he couldn't be too careful if Dean got fumble fingered.  
  
"We've got food and water both for you, _hunter,_" Dean sneered. "Probably far better than you ever would have given Bowman, too. Who knows if you would have remembered to even feed Jacob by the end of things." He stuck the mushroom tauntingly near the other hunter's face. "What do you think, asshat? Am I just about hitting the mark?"  
  
Logan balked from the mushroom in surprise, wrinkling his nose at the sight of it. "I would have given the kid food," he shot back. No denial came regarding Bowman. It became obvious that he never intended to give Bowman _anything,_ and would have let him starve in his prison if it took him that long to find other sprites.  
  
Since the mushroom was right there in front of his face, Logan's eyes were drawn back to it unavoidably. While he could easily tell it was just a common mushroom and perfectly okay to eat, he couldn't help but wonder why Dean seemed so smug about it. Maybe they didn't plan to give him much more than that at a time. Logan scowled, lips curled in distaste, thinking he'd have to prepare for many, many headaches.  
  
Somehow, the fucking sprites had won again. Against all odds and against their clear fragility in such a big world, the sprites managed to avoid the punishments they'd earned. Because of that stupid kid and his weird friends.  
  
"Guess I shouldn't be surprised," Logan added more quietly through his sneer. "Lots of people do crazy things for their favorite pets."  
  
_I'm gonna punch him in the mouth,_ flashed across Jacob's mind. He held back, knowing that justice was really right around the corner for all of Logan's comments and deeds. Even Bowman didn't react to being called a pet beyond scoffing and flicking his wings.  
  
"Oh, gee. Guess I wouldn't know anything about _that,_ since there's no pets around here. But I guess you must have your own experiences with people and pets." The sass in Dean's tone was almost a reflex, covering up the anger he felt at Logan's assertion. He had an easier time covering up his anger than the others after years of playing poker. Hiding his emotions was second nature after thirteen years spent with only himself to rely on. Try though he had to impart this skill on Jacob, the kid needed more practice.  
  
"Now, I _suppose_ we should give you some food and water, that way you don't go collapsing on us out here," Dean continued on. "I don't much feel like hauling your ass out of the forest. I might just leave it if that happens. But if you try anything, anything at all, don't expect the second round to be any easier on you."  
  
He set a steely gaze on Logan. He didn't move or flinch for over a minute, waiting patiently for Sam to climb down his arm and drop to the ground below. Both of them knew it was best to keep anyone Sam or Bowman's size far, far out of Logan's reach. A split-second mistake could cost the small hunter's life, and that was something Dean wouldn't allow.  
  
Once Sam was down and picking his way back over to Jacob, Dean went over to Logan. With a quick motion, one of the other hunter's arms were freed. Before Logan could do anything, the mushroom half was chucked at his stomach, followed by a bottle of water.  
  
Jacob kept a close watch on Logan while he slowly flexed his fingers. Jacob could easily relate to the numbness after having his wrists bound for a length of time. He had been tied up for a lot longer, so he felt no sympathy for Logan's discomfort.  
  
He only looked away long enough to lower the hand with Bowman on it to the ground as Sam arrived. The sprite shifted to make room for another passenger, and Jacob waited patiently. When they were both settled again, he lifted his hand steadily so they wouldn't miss anything, and so Sam wouldn't be stuck down in the grass by himself.  
  
He looked back in time to see Logan begrudgingly twist the cap off the water bottle with his newly free hand, chugging down half the water in short order. He picked up the mushroom, staring at it with clear distaste. Jacob was glad that it didn't appear to have aged at all, or the man might just toss it aside; that thing was months old.  
  
The trickster really had outdone himself. Jacob wondered if he was tuning in now, to see the last of his stupid mushroom trick get used up.  
  
Logan popped the mushroom into his mouth and Jacob almost had to look away. He took a slow breath, remembering his own experience with the damn thing, shrinking the moment it reached his stomach. Logan picked up the water bottle and took another swig to wash the plain mushroom down.  
  
Dean watched the hunter eat the mushroom, his posture tense. He wanted to time this perfectly, especially since in a few minutes, he wouldn’t get another chance to do the same. Sam might, in fact he’d probably get more than _one_ chance with the way Logan was.  
  
As soon as Logan was finished, Dean’s fist hit him in the face. One last time, and this time he was down in one hit. Compared to the way he’d ripped Sam’s knife out of his hands and tossed it into the grass, and the way Bowman was threatened with both losing his wings and losing his life under a pair of boots, this was getting off light.  
  
The hunter slumped to the side, unconscious. Dean glanced over at his friends as there was a rush of air behind him, signaling the hunter’s reduction in size. He gave them his most innocent expression and a sheepish shrug.  
  
“What? It’s not like I’ll get to do it again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean is enjoying this way too much
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next: **December 11th, 2019 at 9pm


	8. Back at the Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for PTSD at the beginning of the chapter, and flashbacks to JiW

Jacob was barely past the fence when it finally caught up to him. He thought he might make it to his car, but he was nowhere close. Memories and vicious thoughts rushed upon him, and he was alone out in the woods with them. From the moment that mushroom was revealed, he knew this was coming, and was still powerless against it.  
  
_He cascades with a mountain of pocket change, sliding, sliding while a smirking face watches above. He lurches over open air, it’s too high, he will break. No, there’s a pool of amber liquid …  
  
Jacob inhales enough beer for a house party on new years. He’s too disoriented, but he knows the whirlpool will draw him in. It does, and it’s dark, everything is dark, hot, humid, fumes, no _air_. He knows he’ll die, he’ll disappear forever and no one will know.  
  
‘He’s so cute you could just eat him up!’  
  
That smirk, _that smirk,_ always watches him try and fail to help himself. It’s always there.  
  
Rat claws, latching around him. Running across a boiling landscape where he’s either a bug or a fucking garnish.  
  
Alone. Alone. Alone. Don’t let me die here.  
  
‘It’s no fun if there’s no way out’ My life is not a game!  
  
I deserve this. I deserve I deserve--  
  
_No._  
  
That smirk widens. Everything widens. The whole fucking world is too big I deserve this.  
  
_Don’t eat me._ There’s a cookie in his hand that says EAT ME and he doesn’t know what it will do, he’s ready to disappear, he’s ready to die …  
  
I deserved it._  
  
When Jacob came to, he was braced weakly against a tree, the bark digging into his palm. He was stooped over and there was a bad taste in his mouth. He’d been sick.  
  
“Fuckdammit,” he whispered weakly.  
  
He always blacked out when this happened, but he’d never had it this bad before. Just when he thought he was improving. Jacob straightened and took stock of the aches all over his body. It was just because of all the excitement. That was it.  
  
And that mushroom.  
  
Jacob spat on the ground and continued on his way. He wasn’t going to say what happened. He’d tell the others he already ate and traffic was slow, something. That could explain why he took so long. The ordeal with the trickster had already caused the others enough anguish. For all he knew, Sam still had nightmares too.  
  
Jacob was a shit liar. It was a good thing he’d have plenty of time before he went back. He could hide what had happened like he’d been hiding every episode. He could hide them until they stopped happening.  
  
The others never needed to know.  
  


* * *

  
_God fucking dammit._  
  
Logan's entire upper body felt sore. After the fight with that weirdo who called the tiny thing his 'brother,' it was little wonder. Not to mention he felt like he could probably find every spot where one of those damn tiny darts had pierced his skin. Poison. There had definitely been poison slowing him down.  
  
No wonder he lost so easily. He was caught off guard by another human he hadn't expected, and the little green bats wanted to fight dirty. Of course they did. It was clear that in a real fight they didn't stand a chance. That was why they had to resort to mind games. And goddamn _poisons._  
  
His ire with the sprites sped his journey towards wakefulness, and Logan remembered the cheap hit he'd taken right as he finished off the meager food he'd been allowed. His stomach barely even felt like he'd had anything. Logan's face twitched in a sleepy scowl and he stewed for a second in hateful thoughts.  
  
Then he realized something. His hands weren't bound. The last thing Logan knew was a strike to his head while he was still tied to a tree. Now, he was lying on his back on the hard ground, his hands at his side.   
  
Logan's eyes shot open.  
  
"What the fuck," he muttered, frowning in confusion at the sight. It was like he'd been moved to the jungle. Grass, thicker and taller than he'd ever seen, stretched overhead and swayed in a light breeze. Logan wondered briefly if those shitheads had dumped him in a field somewhere for kicks.  
  
He sat up, pushing on the dry ground with sore hands. A large tree branch completely void of leaves lay nearby. The grass was thicker around him than it was in his immediate vicinity. He couldn't even see past ten feet or so into the dark green shadows in one direction.  
  
He looked in another direction and stumbled to his feet almost immediately. "You?!" he blurted, squinting at the man sitting crosslegged nearby, calmly paying no mind to the strange scenery around them both. Something nagged the back of Logan's mind and told him to worry a _lot,_ but his surprise pushed that voice back.   
  
It _looked_ like he was staring at a full-sized version of the tiny person-thing he'd recently been able to shove in a pocket.  
  
“Yeah, me,” Sam responded. He got to his feet much slower with all the grace of a tiger, coiled for a fight. His bloodstained jacket was discarded to the side, leaving his lean, muscular arms visible for all to see. A dark bruise covered most of one arm, signs of the earlier struggle for his knife.  
  
There wasn’t an ounce of worry in him as he regarded the other man. Logan was unarmed. If it came down to a fight, not only did Sam have height on him now, he was no slouch after years of climbing for survival. Both of those facts weren’t even counting the fact that he had his own private ace hidden nearby, and his knife now hidden away in his pants as a backup. So with a casual disregard, he stuck his hands in the hand-sewn pockets that Mallory had put in his jeans.  
  
“How’s the head?” Sam asked, his tone conveying that he didn’t care either way. Unlike Logan, however, he wasn’t one to be rude right off the bat.  
  
Logan gave Sam a flat look. His first assumption was that the mushroom wasn't nearly as normal as they'd made it out to be, and now he was hallucinating. It would certainly explain the absolute jungle of tall grass around them. He thought he heard loud winds nearby, but the top of the grass wasn't swaying in time with them. Down within them, Logan almost couldn't feel a breeze at all. It was strangely muggy.  
  
With the smell of earth and grass all around, it really seemed like they couldn't have gone far from the forest. But Logan didn't remember any fields with grass _this_ tall anywhere on his few travels, let alone near those woods.  
  
Finally acknowledging Sam's presence again, he asked "Where the hell am I? What is going on?"  
  
Sam schooled his face to stay expressionless. “You’re right back at the start,” he pointed out unhelpfully, knowing full well why Logan was asking. He didn’t deign to clear things up. This one was for Logan to figure out on his own. Nothing the hunter had done had endeared himself to any of them, Sam and Bowman least of all. One had been threatened with permanent deformity, and the other carelessly shoved in a pocket after his arm had been injured. His knife, tossed away like a piece of scrap metal.  
  
No, none of them would make things easy on Logan after all that.  
  
Sam kicked a pebble that was stuck in the soil. “I think you’ll figure things out for yourself, soon enough,” he stated gamely.  
  
It was definitely sounding more and more like some kind of messed up drug dream. This guy was being a cryptic ass, in addition to standing _taller_ than Logan now. It was definitely the face of the tiny thing he'd found with the miniature knife. But he was too big. The warning in the back of Logan's mind kept trying to reason with him, but Logan kept ignoring it in favor of belligerence.  
  
"Jesus Christ. You're no better this size, either," he muttered, looking away from Sam once more to try and wrap his head around his weird surroundings. If he was just hallucinating, maybe figuring out what all this reminded him of would help him to jar his mind out of it.  
  
There was a rustling somewhere above that drew Logan's gaze upward. _That sound._ He searched the tops of the grass, and craned his neck for the source. A sprite had to be fluttering around here somewhere. He recognized the noise, reminiscent as it was of the leaves brushing each other in the wind.  
  
Logan squinted as it came into view at last, and glided towards them. A steep angle and those bright green wings brought it closer than he'd expect. Logan blinked rapidly and shook his head when a trick of perspective made the sprite seem a lot larger than it could possibly be.  
  
He backpedaled and his face became a mask of anger and surprise when the sprite landed among them. _Also_ a bit taller than Logan. Wide green wings folded carefully to the willowy thing's back, and his brown face (still bruised) was easier to see than ever. Logan recognized it immediately and snarled.  
  
Suddenly the warning in his head made it through, and Logan realized what must have happened.  
  
"What the _fuck_ did you do to me, bug?!" he shouted, practically launching himself at the sprite that must be to blame for Logan's current state. The thinner person balked in surprise, not expecting an attack, and his wings flared into a threat display. Logan's fingers curled into a fist and he prepared to knock the stupid butterfly senseless anyway.  
  
“Whoa!” Sam shouted. He jumped in between Logan and Bowman, blocking the hunter’s advance. In one swift motion, his hand clamped firmly around Logan’s wrist, halting the attack mid-motion. It wasn’t a complete surprise when it was enough to stop the hunter in his tracks. Sam had long suspected he was relatively stronger than Dean and Jacob. This was just a confirmation of that suspicion, one he’d never been able to test when Jacob was downsized. He’d only received an inkling of the idea when they’d been gifted with the Spirit dream. The reaction of the others to his unexpected strength had been what prompted it in his mind.  
  
Twisting Logan’s arm around into a painful position, Sam forcibly marched him away from Bowman. There was no mercy in Sam’s stance, and Logan’s strength wasn’t even comparable. The younger Winchester could handle him like a child.  
  
“You better watch what you try,” Sam warned him sharply, hazel eyes staring daggers into Logan’s own. “Or you won’t be dealing with me as your guard anymore. You’ll be dealing with _Dean._”  
  
As though he was listening for his cue, a rustling came from the side. From where Logan had heard the wind gusting, and from where Sam knew Dean had lay down to relax for a bit while they waited for Logan to recover from unconsciousness. The shadow of the older hunter fell on them as he sat up, towering over the three small people that were standing down in the grass.  
  
He gave them a wry grin. “You called?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next: **December 15th, 2019 at 9pm
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


	9. A Lesson Well-Earned

Logan's eyes were wider than they'd ever been and he stared up at Dean with a slackjawed expression. His heart immediately began to pound faster and the pain in his arm from Sam's grasp was suddenly background noise. Though he knew it was impossible, he still felt like the temperature dropped several degrees the moment that huge shadow glided across the ground and blocked the sunlight from them.  
  
The sprite, rather than quaking in fear in the shadow of one of his betters, just smirked and rolled his eyes. He flexed his green wings once before gingerly folding them again. Logan didn't even get the satisfaction of seeing that the stupid thing was still sore from his work earlier.  
  
"Well, good grief, I just came over here to check on Sam. Didn't think I'd end up cutting your beauty sleep short, Dean," Bowman quipped, looking up at the human with a grin of his own. He pretended not to notice Logan's incredulous scowl.  
  
Why weren't the other two afraid of Dean?  
  
"Let me go," Logan hissed under his breath. He tried in vain to break out of Sam's hold. Everything in Logan's nervous system was primed. He felt a strong need to run, to dash off into the grass that he realized must be in the same clearing they'd always been in. To hide from the colossal man that looked down at him now. He needed to find a way to fix this, and fast.  
  
He couldn't stand the thought of being stuck at the same size as the vermin. He winced and tried to wrench his arm free again, but Sam's strength was too great for him.   
  
Dean watched Logan try and struggle his way free of Sam, his green eyes locked on his little brother and the hunter even as he answered Bowman. “I _suppose_ I can cut back on my beauty rest just this _one_ time,” he smirked back, unable to hide the huge grin on his face while he watched Sam have no trouble at all handling the other hunter.  
  
The grin grew as a thought came to him. “Need a hand with that, Sammy?”  
  
Sam almost seemed to consider as he kept the arm twisted back. Logan’s demands to be set free were completely ignored by the deceptively small and vulnerable-seeming hunter, who, on the same scale, was more powerful. “If you insist. I mean, he _might_ be able to free himself. Eventually. If he doesn’t tire himself out first.”  
  
Dean stretched out a hand through the grasses that loomed overhead, flattening it against the ground. There was a dangerous glint in his eye and two fingers twitched impatiently, beckoning Sam forward. “Well? What are you waiting for?”  
  
Sam twisted the arm further. “You heard him,” he said. “I don’t think I’d want to keep him waiting, if I were you.” He pushed Logan towards the hand that was waiting for them barely a foot away.  
  
Logan dug his heels in, no matter how much pain his arm was in. Sam's incredible strength, so casually employed against him, made it nearly impossible to offer any resistance at all, but Logan tried all the same. His attempts to pull his arm free took on a slightly more desperate rhythm, but with no more progress than before.  
  
"Are you fucking kidding me?! There's no way I'm going on this asshole's hand!" he snapped, changing up his tactics. With his free arm, Logan swung his elbow backwards, aiming for Sam's ribs. If he could hit the sternum just right, he could knock the wind out of even a stronger opponent and get himself free in the resulting daze.  
  
“Like you have a choice.”  
  
The deep, rumbling voice interrupted Logan’s attempt at escape at the same time as the massive hand that had been quietly waiting for them swept forward in one easy motion. Before the elbow could land, giving Logan a chance to injure Sam more, both of them were swept off of their feet. Sam, used to being picked up and not afraid of the owner of that hand, was able to predict the familiar movements of a hand rising into the air and use that to kick free of Logan before then rolling over to pin him down one last time. It was for the other man’s good, to keep him from tumbling off.  
  
Of course, it also meant that Logan was getting an up close and personal look at how different skin would look for them. His face was mostly mashed into a callus, one eye able to glare up from where he was trapped. Against Sam’s strength, every attempt to push himself up was like trying to push over a brick wall.  
  
As soon as the hand stopped moving, Sam’s hands snapped away from Logan, freeing him. There was really no reason to hold him down.  
  
Dean was in control.  
  
Swiftly, Sam got to his feet. He dashed across Dean’s wrist, opting to stay out of the way. This would be better to watch from a distance, so he ran along Dean’s arm and scaled up to his shoulder. From there he didn’t have to worry about Logan trying to jump him, Bowman was out of reach, and there was literally nothing Logan could do to Dean.  
  
Logan pushed himself up to his hands and knees gingerly, ignoring Sam for the time being. His focus was on the hand underneath him, with leathery skin thicker than should be possible. Logan fit easily on the palm of Dean's hand and there would be room for more of him, easily.  
  
He was small. He was _small._  
  
And he was trapped on a giant hand.  
  
Logan finally turned his shocked gaze to the face like a billboard. Dean's intensity, focused on him so keenly, dropped ice into the reduced human's stomach. He scowled, though there was a hint of desperation in the expression, and tried to push himself to a stand. It didn't work, and he instead pitched to the side. He could feel Dean's pulse thumping along under the callused skin.  
  
Logan sat up again, pushing himself back with his hands until one of them fell into the crevice between two of Dean's curved fingers. He drew his hand back like he'd been burned, and glanced over his shoulder to see the enormous digits. They were bigger than him. Logan, a game hunter and wilderness survival expert, was smaller than a finger.  
  
Looking back, he saw that the stupid green flit had flown up to settle himself on Dean's shoulder opposite Sam. Both of them made it look so casual. Like they didn't fear the human the way they should. Especially that Bowman. Logan had thought he'd convinced the bug not to be so arrogant with all his hard work all day.  
  
"Put me down!" he demanded of Dean, with all the authority he could muster.  
  
One side of Dean’s lips quirked up into a smile. “Oh, you think you get to tell me what to do?” he asked lightly. One of his fingers curled down, nudging against Logan’s shoulder in a far rougher manner than he might do when joking with Sam or Bowman. After over a year with Sam, and plenty of time spent around the sprite, Dean was well-aware of how much strength he had to use with them.  
  
With Logan, on the other hand, none of that particularly mattered. This man had threatened the entire village. He’d gone after Jacob with his gun, resulting in it being knocked out of his hands and kicked away. He’d injured Sam and Bowman both, but thankfully those injuries would heal without any lasting damage. Dean had been able to step in before that happened, and thanks to his habit of collecting anything that _might_ come in useful down the line, they had a method to keep the insane man under control and away from innocents without having to kill him.  
  
Dean watched dispassionately as his nudge pitched Logan to the side, falling against his palm yet again. “Let’s get things straight here. You don’t get to tell anyone what to do. You’re not in charge. You’re _lucky_ the sprites wouldn’t want to seek retribution on you, because I wouldn’t have a problem giving it to them after everything you pulled. If Sam or Bowman tell you to do something… you do it, or you’ll be answering to _me_.”  
  
Logan pushed himself up again, a begrudging glare still settled on his face. A single hand was stronger than he could ever hope to be, but that didn't mean he was going to just let himself be pushed around like this. Unlike the sprite, he was a _human,_ and he actually deserved respect.  
  
"I will _not_ be listening to anything that insect has to say," he snapped, turning his glare on Bowman. The sprite's wings twitched irritably, but he didn't rise to the obvious challenge. Snark was wasted on this man, as tempted as Bowman was to be goaded into it. At least his snark battles with Dean or Jacob were among equals.  
  
Logan would clearly take a lot more convincing than they did. He crossed his arms after his bold assertion and remained sitting up on Dean's hand. If Dean tried to knock him down again, he'd at least try to resist it.  
  
“It wasn’t an offer,” Dean said simply. Logan’s defiant stance had no effect on his determination. “And if you don’t, you’ll just have to deal with the consequences. Simple as that.”  
  
With a painful slowness, he curled the fingers of his hand inwards, boxing Logan in. Logan’s eyes widened and he tried to push himself away from the advancing wall, but his hands were small against even Dean’s fingertips, unable to hold them back.   
  
Dean didn’t stop there. In short order, there was no sign that he had another human in his hand. All that was visible was Dean’s fist and the ring on his finger. Logan was completely clenched inside.  
  
"Fuck! Let me _out!_ " Logan bellowed, seething with the knowledge that a lot of his volume was lost to the prison encased around him. He writhed as much as he could in the extremely tight space, which didn't say much. His arms were pinned at awkward angles to his chest and his legs could hardly move at all. Dean's ring dug mercilessly into his side every time he shifted.  
  
Outside the hand, perfectly comfortable, Bowman could hear some of Logan's swears filtering through Dean's closed fingers. He wondered briefly if Dean could actually feel any of Logan's movements in there. When Bowman had been trapped in Jacob's hand exactly like that, it certainly hadn't seemed like it. Humans, as large as they were, didn't really need to be able to notice it. It wasn't like Logan's struggling would actually get him anywhere.  
  
At the sound of a very clear _Let go!_ from within Dean's hand, Bowman snickered. "Wow, he ... he really didn't think that one through, did he?" he quipped, almost certain Dean would notice the same thing Bowman had. Being let go while so high up with no wings was decidedly _not_ what Logan would want.  
  
Dean snorted along with him. “No, he really didn’t.” He waited a moment, feeling the struggles increase in desperation the longer the other hunter was trapped. Even Sam wouldn’t be able to break free of a fist like that, and Logan’s attempts were weaker than Sam’s had ever been. He’d be lucky if he could stand up to a pinky at the rate he was going.  
  
Without warning, Dean flipped his hand upside down so all that was holding Logan up from dashing to the ground was his curled fingers. “This is a classic case of ‘be careful what you wish for,’ ” he said with a grin. His fingers loosened up a little so that Logan would be able to see the ground down below through the cracks.  
  
With the constant struggles, Dean waited patiently until one of Logan’s small legs happened into the space between his index finger and thumb. Seizing the moment, his finger pinned the leg against his thumb…  
  
And Dean opened his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life is about to get very hard for dear Logan
> 
> There will be no update on Christmas day!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next: **December 18th, 2019 at 9pm


	10. Food Delivery

With all support suddenly dropping out from beneath him, Logan's next frantic demand was lost to a yelp of plain fear. The ground, so far below, was no longer obscured by a gigantic hand. The relative safety net was gone too quickly for him to hope he could grab onto something and save himself from the drop.  
  
He tried to twist around and grab at something as he fell, but before he could even wave his hands once, Logan stopped moving.  
  
His leg, clamped in a finger and thumb, stopped his free fall less than a second after it started. Logan groaned in pain as all his weight suddenly yanked down on the limb, grimacing from the headrush that soon followed. He looked straight up, his chin tucked close to his chest, at where his leg all but disappeared in Dean's grip. He could see and feel himself _swaying_ as he dangled there, and his heart went on overdrive forcing adrenaline to practically replace the blood in his body.  
  
And then he looked down.  
  
The ground was so far away, though he knew it could barely be two feet, with Dean sitting on the ground like he was. The drop was several times Logan's height, and would surely break his neck if Dean decided to let him fall. Despite his anger, Logan shuddered once. His whole life was in someone else's control.  
  
He looked back up and tried to reach Dean's hand. It was the most difficult kind of crunch anyone could do, folding themselves straight up like that. Logan's chest was tense with the effort, but he still only barely managed to brush at Dean's fingernail before falling again to dangle helplessly.  
  
Logan turned his red-faced, upside-down glare on his captor, breathing heavily from his attempts to get himself free. "Well?! What are you waiting for, me to beg? Not gonna happen, asshole."  
  
Dean shook his head mournfully. “I could really care less, you know.”  
  
He released his hold on Logan, letting the hunter plummet towards the ground ‘far’ below. Before the man could drop more than six inches, Dean’s other hand snapped out and caught him in midair. Unlike when he’d caught Sam back during the case where they’d discovered Bowman and his village, Dean was much more in tune with his strength and how to apply it. He wasn’t worried about accidentally damaging the other hunter.  
  
Terrifying him, sure. But after everything else, Logan had earned it. All Dean needed to remember was the sound of the knife scraping menacingly against Bowman’s cage and he’d lose any sympathy that tried to rear up in him.  
  
Dean cupped that hand against his stomach and blocked Logan from view. This time, the hunter was in a looser hold, giving him room to move about. Dean put him completely out of mind. “So, you guys think Jacob will be back soon? I think it’s just about time for some lunch since we all missed breakfast.”  
  
Logan, still partially upside down, kicked against Dean's hand the best he could in the dark, though his limbs were still made of jelly from his brief fall. The ground had seemed to leap up to greet him, but Logan never met it. Instead, Dean's hand had leapt forward to intercept him and sweep him against the man's front. Dizzying motions left him no room to figure out where exactly he'd ended up.  
  
As he squirmed to right himself in his almost pitch black enclosure, Logan realized where he was. While Dean's voice rumbled overhead about lunch, his stomach seemed to make noises of agreement.   
  
Right behind Logan.   
  
He flinched away from it in surprise. He'd never realized how unsettling that sound might be, but hearing it so close while he was trapped by the owner of that stomach was something else entirely.  
  
He pushed against Dean's hand with all the strength he had, bracing his boots against the stomach enticed by Dean's words. Nothing happened except for another growl that rumbled through his body. Logan muttered under his breath, trying to find an opening he could pry apart and wriggle free.  
  
Meanwhile, Bowman thought about the question. He glanced up at the sky, noting from the position of the sun that Jacob had left a little over an hour ago. While Logan lay unconscious and small in the grass, Jacob had grown restless enough to volunteer to get food for all of them. After everything that had happened, Bowman couldn't blame Jacob if he had the extra motive of clearing his head somewhere else for a time.  
  
"He'll probably be back soon," the sprite surmised, standing up on Dean's shoulder and fluttering into the air. His wings were still sore after everything, but he was too restless not to fly. He hovered higher in the air and squinted into the trees, looking for his enormous friend. "He's got his car so the human village isn't _that_ far away, right?"   
  
“Awesome,” Dean said. “With the car, we’re only ten minutes from town.” His stomach grumbled loudly in agreement, but he paid it no mind. After all, to him it wasn’t something to worry about. Even Sam and Bowman, who’d been skittish around the humans when they ate in the past, weren’t bothered by it anymore. They all knew that Dean and Jacob, though they both ate meat with gusto, would never eat another living person. They were truthfully disgusted by the thought to the point where Dean would puke at the memory of the time Jacob was in his mouth. He kept those memories sealed away with an iron will.  
  
“Wonder what he’ll bring,” Dean mused curiously. The hand holding Logan loosened up a little down by his stomach, letting light into the enclosure.  
  
Sam let out a barking laugh. “I’m pretty sure we all know what _you’d_ want to eat,” he said with a snicker. He jabbed a finger Dean's way. “There’s not much of a chance he’d actually get that one wrong after all this time.”  
  
Dean nudged at Sam with his other hand. “Hey, I’m allowed to wonder, pint-size!”  
  
Bowman chuckled along with Sam, entertained by the attempt at a pout on Dean's face. He was just as aware as the others of Dean's preference for "cheeseburgers," which were almost entirely made up of things Bowman didn't eat. Dean, however, could practically inhale the things if given the chance.  
  
"No one blames you for being a creature of habit," Bowman teased, still snickering. He was so occupied with smirking at his human friend that he didn't notice the small form manage to slip out of Dean's grasp, carefully crawling between lax fingers and landing on Dean's thigh near the jeans pocket.  
  
Logan paused, waiting for Dean to notice that he'd escaped the enclosure. Hearing no bellows of surprise, the shrunken hunter crept towards the edge of Dean's lap, peering over the side into the grass. Overhead, he heard Bowman say excitedly, "I see him, he's coming this way!" Logan scowled, thinking that the last thing he wanted was to see that damn kid at this new scale. Using the edge of Dean's pocket as an initial handhold, Logan slipped over the side to climb down before anyone noticed. At least Jacob might offer a distraction.  
  
In as many minutes as it took Logan to carefully drop into the grass and struggle his way past the first few blades of it, Jacob arrived at the clearing. He greeted the others with a grin and held up the bag of fast food he had in one hand. "Got lunch," he announced, settling himself down in the grass with a sigh. It was a long walk from the car to here, but it had worked considerably to help him brush off any lingering alarm he felt.  
  
Jacob set the bag down and opened it up, waving a hand casually at Bowman when the sprite flew near curiously. The sprite darted back with a "Hey!" before Jacob drew out wrapped food and handed it off to Dean.  
  
"Cheeseburger for Dean, and Sam, I woulda gotten you a salad but they looked kinda like compost today so I hope you're cool with grilled chicken," he explained with a sheepish smile and a shrug. "Otherwise I'm betting Bowman wouldn't fight you for a share of this fruit cup." Jacob briefly wondered where Logan had gone, but he didn't question it; he knew better than to think Dean had let him get away after what the man did to Sam and Bowman.  
  
Sam climbed to his feet. “That’s fine with me. At least it isn’t as greasy as Dean’s burger.” He smirked triumphantly at the wounded look on Dean’s face.   
  
At least, until he was plucked up between two fingers and let down onto the ground. It didn’t scare him, but it was a shock to get moved around so abruptly. Dean gave him a mock glare from above. “You’ve lost the shoulder-sitting privilege, Thumbelina,” the older hunter shot down at him. “No one insults the burger.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, then walked towards Jacob since Dean was being a pain. It was easier to just ignore his brother. Dean would find a different source of entertainment or focus on his food for a few minutes. “If there’s any watermelon in the cup, I wouldn’t mind a bite.” He greatly preferred to eat the fresher foods that Dean and Jacob got. A chicken sandwich and some fruit sounded perfect.  
  
Dean held out his hand in a ‘gimme’ motion to his cheeseburger. Even as Jacob held it out, Dean’s other hand dropped into the grass by his side, expertly landing on the hunter that thought he was making his grand escape when really Dean was baiting him. Logan was knocked onto his stomach as the hand came to a rest over his head. “I think it’s time for someone to go in the cage.”  
  
Jacob glanced over at Dean's hand, and if he listened he could hear a string of curses filtering out from underneath it. He shook his head and smirked, while setting up the food for Sam and Bowman. "Probably a good idea, can't have him running off and finding out how quick foxes are."  
  
He flattened out some grass with a hand before opening up the wax paper, so they wouldn't have to deal with the long green blades encroaching on their space. Popping the lid off the plastic container of fruit, he set it down opposite the sandwich. Whatever they didn't finish, Jacob or Dean would gladly take care of for them.  
  
Bowman landed on the crackly paper just as Sam arrived too, and glanced back at Dean. He couldn't see the hand concealing Logan from this angle anymore, but he could just imagine the irate hunter's face stuck under there while Dean and Jacob discussed his options; it was a familiar position. Bowman had never thought he'd wish something like that on anybody, but after having his wings threatened ... he found it a little easier to ignore.  
  
"It'll be roomier than your pocket, that's for blasted sure," Bowman quipped, claiming a blueberry from the plastic basin of fresh fruits.  
  
Logan didn't hear Bowman's comment, but he heard Jacob's. His weak struggles, with his cheek pressed uncomfortably in the dirt, paused. A fox, something he used to have such ease shooting dead, would have a grin wider than Logan was tall. And it would probably bat him around without mercy before snapping its teeth on him.  
  
Even knowing that, a cage didn't appeal to him at all. So he resumed his struggling and spitting out curses at Dean. Some blades of grass had been crushed down next to him, their tips scratching at him in the rising heat trapped under a hand. "Don't you fucking dare!" he shouted, pushing his hands into the dirt and trying to lift up the weight settled over his back.  
  
Dean put his foil-wrapped sandwich down next to the small picnic that was set up for Sam and Bowman. “Make sure no ants go after that for me,” he said as he let it go. “And no sneaking any bites, hear me?”  
  
“Sure, Dean. Whatever you say, Dean,” Sam said in the fakest, most syrupy-sweet voice he could muster. He hid a grin underneath his bangs as he stared down at the wrapper his food was on, knowing exactly how his tone would be taken.  
  
Dean scoffed at the sarcastic tone from his brother, then pinched two fingers around Logan’s now-slim waist. “At this rate I might have to find someone else to ride shotgun in the car.” In one swift move, he lifted Logan up into the air and stood up himself. He carefully stepped over Sam and Bowman’s area, heading towards the cage that Logan had brought himself. Now, it would be put to a better purpose than trapping innocent sprites.  
  
Logan felt like he left all of his breath behind on the ground as it rushed away from him. He felt gravity tugging him in one direction while Dean relentlessly yanked him in the other. Instinct drove him to kick and twist his body in Dean's grasp, and also to try and grasp the finger and thumb latched around him.  
  
He could _fall_ at any second. Just like before.  
  
With Dean's steps came gusts of wind. Logan put his hands up in meager defense as he all but flew through the air trapped in Dean's grip. Every muscle in his body was tensed, ready for the possible moment when Dean let go, either by accident or on purpose.  
  
When Dean stooped to grab the cage, Logan choked on another noise of shock. He could see with greater clarity than before how menacing the thing looked. He'd never be able to get out of it on his own. He even saw where the wires had bent inward from his threatening moves earlier, pressing down on it with his boot. He hadn't realized how much he'd actually done.  
  
"Don't you fucking _dare_ put me in there! I am a human being, God dammit!" he shouted, trying to angle a glare at Dean through all the motion he was rapidly put through.  
  
Dean didn’t even pause, grabbing the cage up into his hand. He straightened, and held Logan up to his face. “_That’s_ your best defense? That you're human?” He angled Logan in his grasp, looking over the smaller man with disdain. “Funny, you don’t look like me and Jacob anymore. And if that’s what you claim, then what’s Sam? You didn’t care about _him_ earlier when you stuffed him in a pocket and tossed away his knife. My brother is as human as you are, so I’m not treating you any different than you treated him and Bowman.”  
  
Dean snapped open the latch, and stuffed his hand inside. Logan was released carelessly into the cage, and the latch was closed before he could even hope to try and stand on the grating. Tucking the cage under an arm, Dean made his way back over to the others.  
  
“Didja save me some?” he joked as he sat down, dropping Logan’s cage right next to his crossed leg. He grabbed his cheeseburger, unwrapping it and taking a huge bite.  
  
Logan grimaced and rubbed his shoulder as he sat up. The cage, in worse shape than ever, had really jostled around while Dean carried it. Dropping back into the grass hadn't helped. He heard Jacob laugh at Dean's joke and reply with one of his own in his impossibly huge voice that echoed all around.   
  
"Well, I mean, the temptation was pretty strong to just take it. Since you just left it lying around. But I thought I'd give you another chance, since I already ate on my way back."  
  
Logan stared upwards, scowling with resentment and a little envy while Dean attacked his food with gusto. Logan's stomach whined pitifully at him, reminding him that all he'd had to eat so far was half a mushroom.  
  
He looked away, a little disgusted and unnerved by the sight of just how much food Dean could put away in one bite. Blades of grass shifted after the disturbance of the cage landing on them, and some were already poking up through the grid patterned bars. He dodged around them and made his way to the side, gingerly wrapping his hands around the bars and peering out at the woods beyond them.  
  
Trees towered overhead. Logan saw everything through a grid of metal that used to be thin enough he'd be able to bend it between two fingers. Now he could climb it like a ladder, and he did so. He had to try to reach the latch that'd open up the door. If he could get that open he'd have another shot at running away and figuring out what the hell happened to him.  
  
At the top, he looped one arm through the bars to anchor himself and reached with the other one for the latch, pushing against it with all the strength he had. It didn't budge, but Logan kept trying anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean has absolutely no sympathy for Logan, which is really a good reason the others leave him in charge of their tiny hunter. There's no talking himself out of this one. 
> 
> I've had a cold for like, half a week, and I can't wait for it to stop making me sneeze and sniffle constantly.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next: **December 22nd, 2019 at 9pm


	11. Splitting Off

Sam grinned confidently upwards at his brother. “Don’t worry,” he chirped as he bit into a miniature sandwich he’d cobbled together. He’d even managed to get small pieces of tomato and a bit of lettuce on it to serve as his own toppings. “I was watching it the entire time. I can take him on if he tries to grab your food.”  
  
Jacob grinned. “He’s totally right. I wouldn’t wanna fight Sam.”  
  
Dean couldn’t stop a laugh at that. He reached down with the hand that wasn’t holding the sandwich and gently ruffled Sam’s hair, leaving the bangs haphazardly covering his eyes. “I knew I kept you around for something, shorty,” he said fondly.  
  
The sandwich was gone in a few bites, and Dean was eyeing up the remains of Sam’s… which was still in one piece, aside from a small corner torn off by the miniaturized hunter. Then, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.  
  
“Hey.” Dean flicked the edge of the rabbit trap where Logan had climbed to try and escape. A sharp metal clang rang out when his nail hit the metal bars barely an inch from where Logan was desperately holding on with a small arm. “Watch it, shrimp, or I might think you’re trying to escape again, and we don’t want that now, do we?”  
  
Logan quickly solidified his grip on the bars, giving up on the latch to avoid falling over. It was a significant drop for him, onto a metal floor. His heart leapt to his throat as the metal rang with the force of Dean's impact on it, rattling all the way through his now too-small skeleton. If Dean had hit Logan's arm with that much force, he would have shattered the bones.  
  
This whole tiny-and-helpless thing was wearing on him, and fast.  
  
He scowled up at Dean from where he clung to the side of the cage. "Well what the fuck am I supposed to do, just sit in here? No goddamn way. What can you even do that you haven't already?! If you were gonna kill me you would have."  
  
Dean shrugged. “You shoulda thought these things through before you went and terrorized some peaceful sprites and a kid in the middle of the forest. What I can do… you’ll figure out, I’m sure. What we _will_ do is make sure you don’t threaten anyone else again.”  
  
He gave the cage another flick, a little lighter, before turning away from his captive. The grilled chicken was beckoning him. Dean jabbed a finger at the sandwich. “You done?” he asked Sam.  
  
Sam thought it over, cocking his head. “I dunno,” he said dryly. “I think I want to eat the whole sandwich today.”  
  
Dean paused, briefly caught off guard, then rolled his eyes. “_I’m_ not cleaning up the mess from you stuffing yourself, so I think it’s time to remove temptation.” He scooped the sandwich off the ground and started in on it.  
  
Sam watched him for a moment before his eyes slid over to Logan’s cage. “What _are_ we doing with him?” he asked curiously. They hadn’t discussed much, and the entire idea had been Dean’s from the get-go. It was definitely a good way to keep the psychotic hunter from harming anyone else now that he was small enough for Sam to handle on his own, but unless they were going to keep him in the Impala, it was hard to imagine what they could do with someone that was small enough to get himself in trouble in seconds. Sam was pretty sure a rat would kick Logan’s ass.  
  
Dean swallowed a bite of the sandwich. “I’ve got a few ideas,” he said with a glint in his eye.  
  
Jacob leaned back on his hands to relax, feeling his sore wrists pop as he did so. He watched Logan begrudgingly climb back down to the floor of the cage and sit against the side, pouting. Jacob tilted his head but no matter how much he looked he didn't see a sign of remorse on the small face. There was only anger and resentment so far.  
  
He glanced back at Bowman, who had moved on from his blueberry and was working on a piece of honeydew, another fruit he didn't get in the forest. Those bright green eyes were resolutely ignoring the cage, and Jacob couldn't blame the sprite. He'd spent hours in that thing, shaken around a lot worse than Logan. Even a pacifist like Bowman couldn't feel much sympathy after everything he'd gone through entirely by Logan's hands.  
  
"Well, now you've got me curious," Jacob admitted. He raised his eyebrows expectantly at Dean.  
  
Dean’s grin was a mile wide as he bit into the chicken sandwich again. He thought it over while he chewed, occasionally glancing between Logan and Sam and considering the idea he’d had. He swallowed.  
  
“The way I see it, we can find a motel like the one Sam used to live in. Nice and deserted, with no other people that he can bother. Just the regular people staying for a night, or a week, or a month.”  
  
The poetic justice rang in his head. Logan, trapped on his own. No way to talk to any of the people that stayed at the motel without taking the same risks that Sam did everyday. Being captured, treated like a pet or a toy… the memories of finding Sam trapped in a display case rose to mind. Completely helpless among a slew of humans debating whether they should buy him or not. It was sheer dumb luck that Sam had been priced too high for the majority of the people that day, and that the one person that wanted to buy him had been there at the same time as Dean, giving him the seconds he needed to save his brother and the extra-downsized Jacob both.  
  
“All we gotta do is make sure the little runt can figure out how to survive and that’s it. Hands are washed of the entire situation and Logan can’t do anyone any harm.”  
  
Jacob's gaze slid back to the cage. Logan was listening in with what looked like concern on his face, but Jacob wasn't thinking about that. He carefully considered the plan that Dean had laid out.  
  
He had to agree that it was a nice thought, that little bastard stranded somewhere that he had to learn to fight for his survival just like Sam and the other people his size. Even the sprites, nonviolent by nature, had to have the knights around to defend themselves from a world that was simply too _big_ for them.  
  
Jacob knew all too well some of the dangers that lurked in wait out there for someone too small. He bore four faint scars on his back from the claws of a rat, one that had nearly torn him to pieces were it not for Sam. Sam knew how to survive after over ten years in that life. Logan, with three decades or so of full-sized humanity behind him, simply wouldn't have the same skill level. Sam knew how to sneak, knew how to climb, even knew how to fight off larger-than-life threats.   
  
There was one important thing that Jacob would never be able to put out of mind. Even with all of that, Sam had been caught. Jacob remembered how it felt, the tiny form struggling desperately in his hand while he looked him over. Sam's best struggles were nothing to Jacob, and Logan didn't even have the strength from years of climbing on his side.  
  
"I mean, it's a pretty solid plan, except for one thing," Jacob pointed out. He glanced down at Sam and Bowman by the fruit cup. "It just takes one mistake on his end to get his ass caught, and then ... people might go hunting for more like him."  
  
Dean frowned as he mulled it over. “Maybe…” he said considerately. It would just figure if Logan managed to get his ass caught and put on display, being a thorn in their side long after he’d attacked the forest. “Maybe there’s one other option…”  
  
Finished with his own food, Sam set it to the side and brushed his hands off. “Bobby’s?” he asked, following along with his brother’s line of thought.  
  
Dean nodded in agreement. “Bobby’s.” His gaze settled on Logan. “It’s secluded, it’s secure, he’ll be miles away from other people aside from Bobby and maybe me, and Sam’s checked it over a few times now. Logan might even be able to find a place to live there.”  
  
He smirked at the downsized hunter. “Even better, if he slips up there’s another hunter there to catch him, and we don’t have to worry about Bobby letting the word get out.”  
  
Logan scowled out of the cage, his face a mask of anger he couldn't direct at anything. He wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug look off Dean's face, and maybe kick his ribs in while he was at it. Logan's fists clenched until his knuckles were pale. "What, you're just gonna leave me in some asshole's house to fend for myself?"  
  
"Would you rather be left out here to fend for yourself?" Bowman cut in glibly, rolling his eyes when that glare dropped towards him. He flicked his wings pointedly. "Here, where everything bigger than you wants to eat you, making a pretty big list if I'm honest." Bowman pointedly wiped his hands on a napkin that Jacob had set nearby before adding "You wouldn't last three minutes out here on your own."  
  
"Neither would you, if this cage was open, worm," Logan shot back.  
  
"Dude, can it with the stupid insults, Logan," Jacob, finally irked enough to say something about it. "Give it a rest. You _lost,_ at least try to be a decent sport about it."  
  
“You have no one to blame but yourself, Logan,” Sam chimed in at last. His voice was as calm as ever, unaffected by the venom in the hunter’s tone. Even if there was a way for Logan to get back to size, Dean would handle him. “Think it through. You attack a bunch of innocents, we stopped you. You’re _irrational_. You cut up Jacob’s arm just to get to me faster, threatened to crush Bowman just because he’s mouthy. We can’t risk letting you go free, and what law enforcement would ever believe us if we told him ‘Oh, hey officer! Better lock this guy up, he went after a village of fantastical sprites and tried to wipe them off the map!’ ”  
  
Sam nodded to himself, confident in Dean’s plan. “You won’t be killed, and you’ve got a chance to live your life without hurting anyone again. It’s not that bad, y’know. I’ve been stuck like this since I was ten and _I_ survived. Surely a hunter like yourself can figure it out.”  
  
Logan looked like there were so many things in Sam's statements that he wanted to disagree with that he couldn't pick just one. In the end, he simply narrowed his eyes and scoffed. The way he saw it, clearly these other humans were completely brainwashed by the sprite and his weirdly small human-like friend. It was the only explanation that his mind would accept.  
  
Sprites would never be innocent. They were a poison on the earth. Taking everything they wanted from the humans they were supposed to share it with, and giving nothing back.  
  
"Well aren't you _all_ just saintly," he finally answered bitterly. "Just taking someone's entire life and changing it for them. The bugs really fucked you up, didn't they?"  
  
Bowman was practically slapped in the face by the irony and hypocrisy. And by the fact that Logan couldn't even see it. "You were gonna cut off my wings and take my people out of our home!" he blurted, his wings bristling.  
  
Dean shrugged off his jacket. “I don’t know much about being a saint. But I know the sprites that live here are people just like you an’ me, and so are Sam’s people. They don’t bother anyone, and just try to keep out of sight. And I _also_ know that you’d have done worse to them if we weren’t around to stop you. So you better shut up and enjoy the ride, shrimp.”  
  
He dropped the heavy jacket over top the rabbit cage, blocking Logan from sight. “You can complain about my methods all you want. At least _I’m_ not about to maim you for mouthing off.” Dean put a hand on the top, patting the cage. “I think I’m gonna enjoy watching you try and live the way they do. You might want to be a little nicer to Sam. He’s the only person around that _might_ be able to give you the pointers that will save your life down the line.”  
  
Logan's insistent cries about how insidious and awful the sprites were became completely drowned out and lost under the thick jacket. His voice simply wasn't enough to break that barrier, and he realized it quickly, too, because soon enough Bowman couldn't hear anything out of him. It was a relief. That voice of his, whether it was a tolerable level or the booming rumble he'd used while he was still giant, set Bowman's nerves on edge.  
  
"Thank the Spirit. And you thought _I_ was tough to shut up," Bowman quipped, stretching his wings out behind him and his arms over his head. He sat down on the waxy paper Jacob had unfolded for them and let his wings settle haphazardly behind him.  
  
Jacob chuckled. "Well ..." began teasingly, faltering into a laugh when Bowman sent him a scathing glare over his shoulder. He was glad that the sprite seemed to be doing so much better. He'd been through quite a lot in the last several hours, and the fact that he was still his snarky little self was a huge relief to Jacob. The look on Bowman's face when he truly feared his wings would be cut was burned into Jacob's memory.  
  
Jacob glanced back up at Dean. "I probably won't be able to make the trip to Bobby's with ya when you go, but be sure to tell him I said hi."  
  
Dean nodded. “Will do.” He glanced over at Sam. “We’ll probably head out after this, actually. It’s a bit of a haul and I don’t think either of us slept more than an hour on the way here. I have a feeling we’ll have our hands full until we find another case to work.”  
  
He took the last bite of the chicken sandwich and leaned back, brushing his hands off. “ ‘Sides. We’ll have to make sure Logan ain’t about to get himself killed five minutes after we let him go. Can’t have him getting into Bobby’s way while he’s there.”  
  
Sam got to his feet and stretched his own arms out. “It’s not _that_ hard,” he said dryly. “So long as you’ve got a way to get food, at least.” Jacob wasn’t the only one that vividly remembered their first encounter. It would always stick out in Sam’s mind as one of his most foolish moves.  
  
Yet if he hadn’t grabbed the cracker, he might never have seen Dean again. None of them might be there now, and Bowman’s forest might have ended up under savage attack, not once, but twice. By the lich and Logan both.  
  
Jacob nodded, wondering how well Logan would actually do with all of that. It was one thing for Sam, ten at the time, to start learning and adjusting to things at his new size. Logan was an adult and had been human scaled for a long time. It was probably only his constantly burning anger that kept him from breaking down in that cage right now.  
  
He put it out of mind. At the moment, Jacob had his own mission to consider, one that would have him walking deeper into the woods to check on the village. He reached down and nudged one of Bowman's fragile wings with a fingertip. "Want a lift, bud? I bet Rischa would like it if you brought her some of that fruit," he suggested.  
  
Bowman's potential griping for being poked was immediately derailed by the thought of checking on his young cousin. "Yeah, you're probably right," he agreed. He stood only to move onto the offered hand, grateful for more time to rest his wings.  
  
Jacob held the lid over the container of fruit and glanced at Sam. "Last call, Sam. The sprites won't let this stuff last long."  
  
Sam waved him and the container of fruit off. “Don't worry about it.” He jabbed a hand Dean's way. “I've always got this guy over here if I ever want fruit. He only bitches if it's salad he has to get.”  
  
“That's because you're trying to feed me rabbit food,” Dean complained as he pushed himself up off the ground to a stand. He stepped over to the rabbit cage that held their captive inside. “At least fruit has actual _flavor_."  
  
Dean swept his jacket off of the cage to put it on, revealing the other hunter once again clinging to the side to try and open the latch. He tapped the side of the cage with a boot. “Hey. Better watch it or I might find somewhere else to keep you for the trip.”  
  
Logan might have absently noticed Jacob packing up the wrappers from their food and stowing away the extra fruit in his pocket. He might have noticed Sam preparing himself to leave, or the sprite fluttering his wings on Jacob's hand. He was too preoccupied to care as Dean stood at his full height so close.  
  
Logan actually fell from the side of the cage in surprise this time, not from the way Dean nudged it with a massive boot, but from how high up the man's face was like this. He was _massive._ Lying on the floor of a cage right at Dean's feet was forcing Logan to view a perspective that he'd never in a million years expect to face.  
  
Logan was _bug-sized._  
  
All the more reason to keep trying to find a way out. "Why the fuck would I stop trying to escape?! I'll figure it out eventually and then you'll regret all this bullshit," he warned, though he wondered for a moment if his voice could carry that far. Any fear he felt, he refused to show. He wouldn't just lie down and lose to these guys. He couldn't.  
  
Dean knelt down. “I’m sure you will,” he said condescendingly. “And I’m sure you’ll let us _all_ know when you figure it out.” He wondered, in the back of his mind, if Logan suspected the truth.  
  
That his new size, barring interference from the trickster, was _permanent._  
  
After everything that had happened, they’d never discovered any other way to break the size change on Jacob. Sure, killing the trickster might work, according to Bobby’s lore, but in the end they’d never had the chance to find out. The sly bastard had changed Jacob back on his own, confronting the downsized hunter on Dean’s own palm. The creep had vanished into thin air, leaving no trace, and no memory of himself anywhere that Dean had checked.   
  
A cold trail like that would be a bitch to follow, and Logan wouldn’t be worth the trouble. No, he was going to be downsized for a long, long time. And if he didn’t shape up his attitude, there wouldn’t be anyone inclined to help him out.  
  
Dean held out a hand for Sam, letting his little brother climb up it like normal to get to his perch on the shoulder. The duffel was swung over his other shoulder, then he grabbed the rabbit cage and stood with everything set and ready to go.  
  
Logan, in the midst of pushing himself up from where he'd fallen, was not prepared for the cage to practically shoot into the air. Gravity and air both pushed down on him and flattened him to the grid-patterned floor. One of his arms slipped through the wires and he wound up slamming his shoulder, hard, into one of the bars. When the motion finally stopped, Logan found himself staring down through a metal lattice at the ground far below.  
  
He awkwardly moved himself around, trying not to let another limb fall between the bars by mistake. His shoulder was already stiffening from the pain of smacking it. While Logan gripped the side of the cage with white-knuckled hands and a determination not to look down, Jacob and his stupid friend the sprite said their goodbyes. Logan scowled up at them when they spared him one last glance, and then, with Jacob taking impossibly long strides out of the small clearing, Logan was stuck alone with Dean and his oddball little companion.  
  
He was well aware how long of a walk it'd be to get back to any cars. His wasn't parked where most would be, but it didn't matter. Even if Dean didn't have the keys to his truck, Logan couldn't hope to drive it in this state. It'd be tagged as an abandoned vehicle and towed away if he didn't move it in time.  
  
"So what are you assholes gonna do, huh? Just let me disappear into your stupid fucking cages? What if I said someone would come looking for me, what then?" It was a huge bluff, but Logan had no problems with lying. He was something of a natural at it most of the time, even with hardly a floor underneath him and not even four inches of height from head to toe. "I don't think they'll let you keep your little pet up there if you end up in jail."  
  
Dean snorted as he stepped over to where Logan’s wallet and keys had been left. “If you had anyone who’d miss you, you woulda mentioned them before now. And I know a thing or two about slipping cuffs. They wouldn’t hold me back as long as you’d hope.”  
  
The scattered possessions were gathered up. Dean stuck Logan’s gun in his duffel. Later on he could check it out and see if it was a sturdy weapon. If not, he always needed spare parts. The wallet would come in handy. There was a good sum of money inside, and credit cards they could use themselves as soon as Dean replaced Logan’s image on the driver’s license with an image of himself. It wasn’t as hard as people thought.  
  
During all the abrupt movement, Sam remained close to Dean’s neck for balance. After over a year together, it was easier for him to stay in one place without any danger of falling. And then they set out for the car, long strides taking Dean in the opposite direction from where Jacob had vanished, the cage tucked under an arm with casual disregard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sympathy for Logan: -100
> 
> There will be no update on Christmas day! Have a good holiday, everyone!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next: **December 29th, 2019 at 9pm


	12. For Life

The cage swayed with each step that Dean took, and Logan had a feeling it was on purpose. Air rushed past him, easily passing through the bars of his flying prison. The ground passed by below, and each time one of those boots slammed into the ground, Logan felt the vibration through his cage. The vertiginous clenching in his stomach was almost painful. People shouldn't move around so fast, so high up, with nothing but a grid of metal bars between them and a steep plunge.  
  
Logan couldn't quite get the hang of keeping himself steady, either. He tried to loop his arm through the bars and anchor himself to the door of the cage, but every once in awhile Dean would sidestep something or turn just sharply enough to send the small prisoner tumbling on the tilted floor of the cage. At one point the whole prison even moved up and down sharply, bouncing Logan against the metal.  
  
With one hand over the bruise forming on the back of his head and the other desperately trying to get a grasp on the wall of the cage, Logan finally snapped. "Will you quit shaking this damn thing around so much?! Jesus Christ you're worse than the fucking city bus."  
  
Dean glanced down at the cage, and couldn’t help a smirk. “Hear that, Sammy? He thinks I’m worse than the bus.”  
  
Sam shifted on his shoulder, rubbing his eyes. After all the excitement, neither of them had got much sleep that day. “Guess he’s never tried being stuck in your jeans pocket,” he grumbled tiredly. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a worse ride than that, and I’ve been through a lot.”  
  
“Hey, they’re not _that_ bad,” Dean complained, Logan already out of mind. “I swear, if that girl hadn’t shown up, I never woulda…”  
  
“Chill, I’m over it,” Sam snickered. “We just gotta make sure you buy new pants once in awhile. That hole was in the _worst_ place and I swear I’ll stab you if you try and put me in them again.”  
  
“Whatever.” Dean walked on, ignoring the tiny hunter in the cage by his side. His fingers drummed absently on the side to the beat of _Ramble On._ Sam wasn’t the only one exhausted from the last minute case they’d found themselves on. “You up for stopping at a motel on the way?” he asked. “I don’t think another eight hour drive would be the best plan.”  
  
Sam shrugged, leaning back. “You know I’m not going to complain. You’re the driver.”  
  
For a moment, Logan wasn't sure he actually heard what he did. He thought for a second that he'd missed something. But no, they hadn't told him off for complaining like he might have expected. Beyond getting their conversation going, it was like Logan hadn't said anything at all. He scowled and opened his mouth to bark another demand at them, but a shift of the cage put him off balance and he had to focus on pulling his leg back through the bars.  
  
"Goddamn ... useless ... jackasses," he muttered, scooting himself to the corner again despite the tilt and the constant vibrations going through the cage. He glanced over at Dean's hand, pursing his lips in disgust at the way the massive man so casually tapped out a song on the side of the prison. Fingers bigger than he was struck the cage, as if trying to drive home how pointless all of his struggles and complaints were. He wasn't going anywhere unless that hand opened up the door.  
  
Not that Logan would ever believe that line of thinking. He'd find a way out of here, somehow. He managed to secure himself in the corner despite the bumpy ride, and watched the forest scenery pass them by for a few minutes.  
  
Trees, bigger than the California redwoods, stretched high above Dean's head, and occasionally an orange or brown leaf would drift down onto the ground. When Dean's boots crunched through piles of leaves, Logan couldn't help but flinch from the noise.  
  
As they went, the air rushing past him with ease, Logan shivered with a surprised realization that he was _cold_. It seemed a lot more brisk than he'd have thought. His body heat was being stolen away by the air and by the metal around him. He couldn't retain it like he usually did. He released a frustrated sigh and, despite the shakiness of his prison, tried to tuck himself further into the corner. He couldn't waste his energy shivering from a little cold. He needed to figure out how he'd escape.  
  
For Sam and Dean, the trip back to the car passed swiftly. They were used to being further out in the forest to visit the village. The trees surrounding them soon opened up to the clearing where the Impala and Jacob’s Mercury Cougar sat waiting. A strand of sunlight hit the black and chrome body of the classic car, glittering welcomingly at the brothers.  
  
The duffel was stashed away in the backseat as usual, and Dean found himself frowning down at the cage in his hands. “Where should I put you…” he said thoughtfully, his brows furrowed. He didn’t pay much mind to the hunter in the corner.  
  
Opening up the driver’s side door, Dean got into the car. He ended up putting the cage on the passenger’s side floor. If he needed to slam on the brakes, at least this way the entire cage wouldn’t go flying. Of course, _Logan_ would still go flying, and there wouldn’t be anyone around to catch him…  
  
Against his better judgement, Dean stuffed one of his black t-shirts into the cage and snapped the latch shut again. Just in case, that way there was at least a cushion. They didn’t need his blood on their hands.  
  
Logan found himself swept up by the sudden rush of black fabric, and his yelp of alarm and demands for Dean to _watch what he was doing_ went ignored. He heard the muffled sound of the latch closing once more from underneath a pile of thick black t-shirt fabric. Grumbling while the car rocked around him a little with the massive human moving about, Logan started to crawl along the bottom of the cage.  
  
He hadn't quite escaped the t-shirt before the engine roared to life, and he flinched through his whole body. The car was _loud,_ louder than he'd ever thought it would be. Logan's heart instinctively pounded in his chest from the scare. He felt every growling rumble of the engine vibrating all around him.  
  
Finding his way free of the cloth didn't offer that much comfort. Everything lurched as the car moved out of its parking spot, making Logan fall flat on his face just as he pushed the last bit of fabric out of the way. He crawled out shakily, pitching to the side as the Impala turned, and finally rolling back on top of the shirt when it switched from reverse to drive. Every motion was disorienting and huge, especially towards the floor of the vehicle.  
  
Logan crawled onto the cushioning of the shirt the best he could. He was as aware as Dean, if not more so, of the risk of smacking into the cage wall in an accident. He'd be shredded if he hit fast enough. The worst part of it all was knowing how far out of his element he was. At least they planned to stay at a motel. He might end up with an opportunity to escape and hide before finding someone that might be able to help him.  
  
If that were possible. He tried to angle a glare up at Dean, but couldn't see him past the bench seat. All Logan saw was two denim clad legs, stretching out to the pedals of the car and punching the gas to speed them towards whatever destination Dean picked. With the sound of the road rushing by uncomfortably close below, Logan found a corner again and settled down, waiting for the ride to be over.  
  


* * *

  
They drove for at least two hours. Dean wanted to get some distance from the Wellwood before they stopped for the night, that way there would be no way to link the person sitting in a cage with the hunter that had gone missing in the forest. He doubted anyone would put it together, but in his estimation, it was always better to be safe than sorry. Logan had threatened the entire forest, and could have threatened Sam’s people as well after he’d grabbed the small hunter. They needed to keep him from spreading those secrets.  
  
The afternoon was beginning to wane when the Impala turned into a motel along the route. It was shabby, but it would work for the night. At least it would be better than trying to catch some shut eye at a local truck stop.  
  
“You up to come in, or you plan on staying here?” Dean asked Sam, who was barely awake at that point.  
  
Sam jolted up, startled out of a waking dream. “Uh…” he glanced around the car and spotted the cage down on the floor. “I’ll keep watch in here. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on Logan.”  
  
Dean let Sam down onto the bench seat before climbing out. Sam calmly watched the dark shadow of the hunter outside as the car was locked up, leaving him and Logan on their own.  
  
He walked across the seat, making sure everything was in its place before sitting on the edge of the seat with his legs dangling off. The innocuous cage below was the focus of his attention. Sam was glad he’d never been shoved in the thing. After what he and Bowman had been through before in cages, just the thought sent a shudder up his back.  
  
“So how’s the ride down there?” Sam called out, peering down at the shadows of the dark t-shirt shoved in the cage.  
  
Logan looked up in surprise. Stuck in his own brooding, he hadn't heard the brothers' conversation at all. He was surprised to find Sam still in the car with him after Dean left. Sitting up there, just casually swinging his legs off the seat without a damn care. _You should be scared of everything,_ Logan wanted to point out. The fact that Sam wasn't scared, even of Dean, baffled the man in the cage to no end.  
  
He was also baffled that _he_ was in a cage and Sam was not. It didn't make any damn sense. But he wasn't about to argue that with the man. It would obviously get him nowhere.  
  
He scoffed and looked back at his small landscape of t-shirt fabric, bunched up against a horizon of grid patterned metal. Beyond it was the murky dim of the car floor, leaving very little for Logan to see. The main impression he got was that the car was _big_, and he was not.  
  
"Smooth sailing, and I love the scenery," he finally grumbled, sarcasm wrapped around every syllable.  
  
Sam glanced up at the ceiling of the car that arched overhead, hiding a grin from the man on the floor. "Unless you want to hitch a ride on someone's shoulder, the view's not much better up here," he pointed out with bemusement. "It's not like I can see out of the windows from down on the seat."  
  
Indeed, even keeping watch from where he was sitting on the leather upholstery was an iffy proposition. The windows were far overhead. The only thing that Sam could spot from his low vantage point currently was a streetlight hanging far overhead. The rest of his view was a long line of clouds that had rolled in for the evening, blanketing the sky in a layer of grey and white that was impossibly far out of reach.  
  
They were safe if any storms came in, at least. Either in the Impala or the motel, it wouldn't be able to reach them with the heavy drops of rain that fell, all easily the size of Sam's hand or bigger. A particularly potent storm might even be able to knock him off his feet. He'd been out in one on one occasion. Falling asleep on the roof of the motel during the middle of the day had resulted in him waking up when drops managed to sneak their way under the overhang, buffeted by the winds. He'd spent a half hour drying in the ceiling before returning home, wary of letting Mallory and Walt know where he'd gone. They didn't approve of him out on the roof, possibly in sight of passersby.  
  
He always made sure to stay far enough back, though. He didn't want to be seen by the hulking giants that meandered in and out of the motel anymore than they wanted him to be seen. He only watched for one specific car during those outings. Any others were out of the question.  
  
Sam peered down again, taking in the shirt that Logan was ensconced on. "Somehow I don't think you'd want to sit on someone's shoulder, though."  
  
"Definitely not," Logan answered quickly, with a look that said he was thoroughly put off by the idea. Trusting anyone to keep him safe up there, especially Dean, was suicidal. How Sam stayed on the perch was beyond Logan. What if Dean sneezed, or tripped? At least Sam had the chance that Dean would try to catch him. Logan could only see himself being allowed to plummet if he fell.  
  
Somehow, the cage was actually a better option for him. At least it put an imagined layer of protection between him and these loons. He was trapped, but he wasn't likely to get dangled by his leg while he was in there. _What the fuck kinda mindset is that,_ he admonished himself. Logan huffed in frustration, knowing his only real option was to somehow escape.  
  
In the meantime, he'd just deal with the weird little whatever-he-was and his enormous bodyguard. Logan was a very patient man when he wanted to be. It benefited a game hunter, who might have to wait for hours on end before a quarry wandered near enough. "Keep it up with that smug grin, asshole. When you drop your guard I'm getting away from you freaks. I'll be sure to kill a sprite just for you."  
  
Anger and confusion for his predicament had combined with Logan's physical hurts, leaving him very frustrated indeed. The fact that he was hopelessly caged in a stupid rabbit trap only added to it. And, though Logan wouldn't admit it, the fear that came with being sprite sized weighed heavily on his mind too. He didn't know how he'd escape, only that he had to try.  
  
"You just keep thinking that," Sam said patronizingly. "I'm sure that thought will keep you warm when the nights get cold this winter. Those little legs of yours aren't gonna get you far from Bobby's even if you get your ass outside, and there aren't any sprites close to the house. I've looked. And even if you do manage to escape, how long will it take Dean to catch up to you? Five minutes? Ten? I can run as fast as I want, but there's no way to outrun a human this way. Especially not a hunter, and one that's tracked me down before without breaking a sweat. He'll enjoy the practice."  
  
The memory of Dean 'hunting' him came to mind. It wasn't something for the lighthearted, even knowing that there was no danger. Logan would have no such guarantee of safety. Not that he'd believe them if they told him Dean wouldn't kill him. It would be a game of cat and mouse, and there was no doubt in Sam's mind that the cat would come out on top every time.  
  
He smirked at a sudden thought. "Oh. And didn't we tell you? There's no cure for that mushroom. You're gonna be like this a long, long time."  
  
Sam's assurance drowned out the thought of being tracked and hunted by Dean. That was secondary to the fact that Logan had just been told his shrunken state was _permanent._ He leaned away from the wall of the cage to get a better look at Sam's face. There was smug satisfaction there, but an icy feeling crept into Logan's gut as he observed closer.   
  
Sam wasn't lying.  
  
Why would he? Sam had nothing to gain from lying about it. And he was clearly still small himself, which only helped sell the point. No, it was clearly more fun to see Logan's reaction to the news.  
  
Even knowing that, Logan reacted anyway, a fire lit in his furious eyes. "_What?!_ " he spat, getting to his feet and gripping the bars to keep his balance. Despite the bumpy terrain he only had room to fill to the brim with rage, rage for which he didn't even have a proper outlet. "You fucking shrunk me down to the size of a goddamn _sprite_ and there isn't even a cure? You crazy fucks, who do you think you are?!"  
  
He kicked the bars of the cage in frustration, getting nothing but another sore spot out of the action. Logan's hands both gripped the cold metal so tight that his fingers got practically no blood flow. He cast his gaze around the floor of the car and saw it in a new light. Even if he escaped that cage, escaped these psychopaths, he'd be stuck with views like this. He didn't even have room to panic, he was so angry.  
  
"Maybe you should have reconsidered terrifying innocents," Sam pointed out calmly. The reaction was no surprise. He'd been expecting anger and discontent, though he was sad Dean had missed having the chance to see the reaction. After watching Jacob's arm slit just to get to Sam faster and Bowman tormented because of what he was, it felt like karmic justice. A whole lot of karma.  
  
Jacob had never deserved anything he'd gone through whilst downsized. Sam and Bowman both had forgiven his mistakes long ago. Unlike Logan, Jacob was repentant. He'd more than made up for grabbing Sam and injuring him. He'd faced down Dean's wrath just to return his vulnerable, cursed brother back to his side. He'd risked his life saving the Wellwood.  
  
Logan displayed no remorse. He tried to destroy lives, maim Bowman, even threatened Jacob with a gun. It was sheer luck that none of the injuries were permanent.  
  
Now, Logan could only threaten people his own size. He'd have a hell of a time finding any sprites, and it wasn't likely he'd want to brave the outdoor world long enough to track down the burrow outside Bobby's. The families that lived there would be safe. It was unlikely even then he'd be able to do any harm. Logan was far weaker than Sam, and that meant he'd be far weaker than anyone else that size excep the willowy sprites.  
  
He'd be close to harmless without some kind of weapon.  
  
A shadow fell over the door. Sam tensed up until he saw the top of Dean's head outside. The door quickly opened, and the hunter leaned in.  
  
"King-sized bed, this time," Dean grinned as he held a hand out to Sam. He frowned as he spotted the raging Logan. "What stick went up his ass?"  
  
Sam gave an innocent grin as he got onto Dean's hand. "I might have let it slip that he's stuck this size."  
  
"Aw, Sammy. You let him know without me?" Dean shook his head. "I always miss the best part," he rued.  
  
Logan gave his prison one last kick before backing away from the wall and falling to a seated position on the rumpled t-shirt fabric. It looked even darker under the immense shadow of his jailor, and Logan stared bitterly at one of the many folds. A goddamn _shirt_ shouldn't be this big. It was ridiculous. But here he was, small enough to crawl into just the sleeve with plenty of room to spare.  
  
And it was their fault.  
  
He turned his sharp glare upwards, his face flushed from rage. What right did they have to decide he should be reduced in size and stuffed in a cage like this?! The sprites deserved everything they got. The insidious little creatures were patient and tricky, and who knew what the leafy-winged ones could do to a human's head? Clearly that Bowman had these guys hoodwinked, and now Logan was their prisoner.  
  
"Let me out of this cage, you son of a bitch," he demanded. While there was just as much venom in his voice as before, a weariness had also leaked in. As the adrenaline rush from his outburst began to taper off, Logan began to notice just how tiring events had been. That was their fault, too, of course. "Let me out and leave me alone. You already left me at fucking sprite size, what the hell else are you gonna do?!"  
  
“I guess someone still hasn't learned ‘be careful what you wish for,’ ” Dean said with a smirk. He lifted Sam up and slipped his unprotesting brother into the chest pocket of his shirt. Sam knew he needed to stay out of sight for a few minutes. “You just might get it.”  
  
With Sam ready, Dean snapped open the lock of the cage. Unfortunately for Logan, it took him seconds to gather up the edges of the shirt and lift it so that the smaller hunter tumbled cursing into a pitch black sack of fabric. He curled his hand around the edges, leaving Logan hanging at the bottom. Duffel bag tossed over his shoulder as per his norm, Dean strode swiftly to the room.  
  
The interior was dimmer than normal, with one of the lights out, but the eclectic style of the green upholstery and yellow walls made Dean’s eyes bug out for a second. Thankful that they were only there for the night, he tossed his bag on the bed and carefully gathered Sam out of the pocket.  
  
Sam waited on the table until Dean managed to track down a way to keep Logan in one place that didn’t involve carrying a trap into a motel room. He might get away with a lot at shabby, rundown motels like this, but that would be asking a lot.  
  
In the end, he found a vase. The flowers got dumped out, and Dean centered it on the table. The shirt with Logan’s perpetually squirming form in it was placed inside and he was certain to make sure that the edges didn’t reach the top, carefully stuffing some of the sides down.  
  
“There we go,” Dean said proudly. “A home away from home. And roomier than the jar I’ve got.”  
  
Sam just rolled his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harsh Sam, harsh. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next: **January 1st, 2020 at 9pm


	13. Resolute

Logan struggled in confusion underneath the pile of fabric that was basically dumped all around him. He fell back to the bottom of whatever enclosure they'd put him in, landing with a muffled "Oof!" The noise bounced back at him almost mockingly.  
  
He growled in frustration and clawed at the shirt, dragging himself upwards slowly but surely. He slipped once or twice, but managed to push folds of the fabric underneath himself in order to climb upwards. The pitch black slowly started to let a trickle of light in through the weave. The closed, stuffy air got fresher until he finally managed to push a fold out of the way with a gasp of air.  
  
Any traces of satisfaction with escaping the shirt immediately transformed into a scowl when he saw the glass walls all around him. He shifted so he was fully on top of all the fabric and stood on it, maintaining his balance well enough. Ignoring the brothers, he stretched as tall as he could to try to reach the edge of the vase, but it was too high up for him.  
  
"God _dammit,_” he spat, slapping his hands on the glass in pure frustration. "Let me out!"  
  
Neither brother responded to the resentment in Logan’s tone. Dean stripped off his jacket, tossing it onto the bed. “Hungry?” he called over his shoulder at Sam.  
  
Sam nodded absently, checking the vase over for himself to make sure Logan couldn’t get out. Even Sam would have a rough time with it if he didn’t have his own hook and climbing rope. “A granola bar works,” he replied.  
  
Dean dropped one off at the table, then left the room, stripping off his t-shirt as he went to reveal powerful muscles that normally lay hidden. The shirt was tossed onto the bed before he went into the bathroom. It was only a moment before the water started to run in the shower.  
  
Sam sliced the packaging open with his knife, then sat down crosslegged to eat the granola, watching after where Dean had vanished to.  
  
Logan's hands were pressed to the glass and his scowl was set on his face as he watched. They just _ignored_ him again. Like he wasn't even really there. His eyes drifted over the granola bar that was bigger than he was, and he frowned. Granola bars were bigger than him now.  
  
His stomach suddenly throbbed with pain, reminding him that he hadn't eaten all day. He felt the hunger spread from his core to his head and finally to his fingertips. The unique headache and light feeling of going too long without eating anything. He was amazed his stomach hadn't made any noise yet.  
  
Thinking there was no way he'd be given food if he asked, Logan didn't lower himself to begging. He wasn't going to play that game. So instead he resolutely sat down on the cushioning of fabric and leaned against the glass wall, his legs drawn up to his chest to mask any sound his stomach might make. With his arms crossed on his knees, Logan shut his eyes to try to clear his head and rest. He _had_ to think of a way out of there.  
  
Time passed slowly out in the main room of the motel. There was a tension in the air with Logan trapped that usually didn’t exist. Sam didn’t glance his way, determined to eat what he could before Dean got out of the shower and finished off the granola bar. He knew that his brother would never starve their prisoner - Logan would be getting food and water whether he accepted it or not.  
  
The roaring rush of the water shut off and Dean exited the bathroom. He was toweling his hair dry, and only wearing shorts and a different t-shirt. He tossed the towel across the room, and scooped up the granola bar. One piece was broken off at the end and dropped into the vase with Logan. Following that, Dean filled up a bottlecap of water and lowered that into the vase carefully. His hand barely fit to the bottom with Logan in the way, but he managed to make it without spilling.  
  
Sam’s small room was set up in the one nightstand that was in the room, and Dean collapsed face first into bed, asleep in seconds.  
  


* * *

  
At first, Logan considered refusing to eat or drink anything they gave him. However, his stomach whined imploringly at him and he relented, begrudgingly grabbing the granola. At least he'd seen them eat it, so he knew he wasn't about to shrink even more.  
  
Despite his frustration, that thought set a cold bolt of worry fleeting through him. He couldn't fathom being even _smaller._ And he knew he was decently tall, so Sam must know people smaller than this already.  
  
Logan wolfed down the food the best he could, despite it being a strange texture from what he remembered. It was harder to take bites of such a huge chunk of granola. It was bizarre. His hunger didn't care, and it was gone too soon for his liking. He washed it down with a drink from a _bottlecap._ "What the fuck," he whispered to himself, continuously in disbelief.  
  
He was trapped in a vase, sitting on the bunched up fabric of a t-shirt. It was wrong. Ignoring his captors, Logan scowled and decided it was high time he make another attempt to get out.  
  
He tried to bunch the fabric to one side. It was plenty of work by itself, shifting the cloth around so it was all on one side. He might have a chance of stacking enough to reach the rim of the vase ... from there he could consider his next move.  
  
Propping up the cloth took him several minutes, but climbing it proved to be the hard part. He risked just shoving it all back down if he pushed on it too much. Logan was careful, and made it almost halfway up his makeshift ladder before it sagged and sent him tumbling back to the bottom. He rolled into the wall of glass and looked up to see the t-shirt slumping over him.  
  
"God _dammit,_" he shouted, muffled by the fabric before he shoved it off himself bitterly.  
  
Sam calmly watched Logan's actions, finishing off the last bite of his granola bar slowly. He wasn't sure if the hunter had forgotten about him, but it certainly added entertainment to the night.  
  
A soft light from the bathroom lit up the room with a luminescent glow. Sam, being adjusted to the darkness, could see perfectly. Dean's large form over on the bed was clearly passed out, his shoulders rising and falling to a relaxed beat. It was almost impossible for Dean to pretend he wasn't sleeping around his little brother anymore, Sam could tell in an instant if he was actually asleep. After all, he'd spent more than one night with a pocket as a sleeping bag, drifting off to the background motion of a rising and falling chest.  
  
Sam sipped from his water, watching Logan finally make his way out from under the collapsed shirt. "Careful," Sam warned. "I'm not sure if you _plan_ on waking Dean up, but I can say for sure that he's jumpy if he wakes up in the middle of the night. He might decide that a jar's a safer place to leave you, and a shirt sure as hell won't be fitting inside for a cushion."  
  
Logan whipped his glare to the side, finding he had an audience after all. In his efforts, he'd entirely put Sam out of his mind, ignoring his existence. After all, the larger of his jailors was out like a light. Why worry about the tiny one? Regardless that he was just as tiny as Sam. If he could escape the vase, Logan was a little more prepared this time. He might be able to do better in a scuffle.  
  
"Fuck you," Logan spat, heedless of his volume. Dean was exhausted. That much was obvious from the way he'd all but fallen over. Why would he listen for Logan's miniature voice when he was so certain he was trapped?  
  
"Why should I listen to anything you have to say? You're just as bad as the damn sprites, thinking they can do whatever they damn well please. _I_ don't belong in a cage. _They_ do." Logan's short tirade of complaints ended with a resigned kick against the glass wall between himself and Sam. Thanks to the t-shirt cushioning, he was up a little higher than Sam, but he didn't feel the advantage at all, trapped like he was.  
  
Sam didn't react. Not to Logan's infuriated kick, not to his angry words. Nor did he react to the subtle shifting on the bed and the change in the breathing pattern of the hunter that was supposedly 'out cold.'  
  
Logan didn't get it. He wasn't used to the things in the dark, stalking him while he tracked their movements. The hunter, becoming the hunted in less than a second. Dean wouldn't let his guard drop completely until they knew for sure that Logan had been contained by the shrinking mushroom, and probably not even then. His paranoia over Sam's well being would keep him vigilant if any type of danger lurked close to Sam.  
  
Sam didn't tell Logan any of his. He let himself smile secretively, then met the man's eyes. "You should let yourself rest," Sam said instead. "You'll need your energy if you want to keep up yelling at Dean like this. It won't get you anywhere, but if it makes you feel better, by all means. Yell. Eventually he might just stuff you in the duffel bag."  
  
Sam brushed the crumbs off his jacket, then gave it an annoyed glance. Jacob's blood still darkened the sleeves and the chest. He'd need to try and wash that out before going to bed.  
  
Pulling out his grappling hook, Sam glanced over at Logan. "I wouldn't want to be you in that bag, though," Sam said dryly. "No way to get out, no way to even _see_what's going on outside."  
  
The absolutely frigid delivery of the warning actually left Logan silent for a moment. While Sam continued to the edge of the table, he considered the duffel bag. It remained where Dean had left it on one side of the enormous bed. The thing was made of sturdy material, and the zipper on it showed no signs of a damaged spot where he could crawl out, even if he wasn't trapped in the jar Sam mentioned. The clatter he'd heard earlier was most definitely the sound of weapons knocking together.  
  
By the time Logan remembered himself and turned to retort, Sam had vanished over the side of the table. Climbing with that hook that he'd stabbed right into Logan's chest to escape his pocket before. The small injury twinged as he thought about it. Logan kicked the glass again, still too full of anger to care that there was no recipient for his rage now.  
  
"You're both so full of _shit!_ I will find a way to goddamn get you back for this," he shouted, before turning away to shove at the fabric again. He tried to recreate his ladder from before, bunching the t-shirt up against the side with frustrated movements.  
  
A few more failed attempts later, and Logan slumped against the curved glass wall in defeat. The light in the window had completely gone, seeming like it took all of his energy with it. Logan stared up at the opening of the vase, taunting him with the fact that freedom was _inches_ away.   
  
_Inches_ meant so much more now.  
  
Logan somehow fell asleep there, fuming about his predicament. Heavy slumber relaxed his tense shoulders and his head tilted to the side. If not for the lines indicating a pinch in his brow, he might have almost looked peaceful.  
  
It took another ten minutes past Logan settling to sleep for Dean to follow. He sent one last bleary green-eyed blink towards the table, making sure that the other hunter was indeed asleep. The sound of running water came to life, giving Dean a brief attempt at staying awake when he realized Sam was still up, but it was no good. Without Logan showing himself a threat, Dean’s instincts allowed him to relax into sleep.  
  


* * *

  
Once his knife was stowed away in his satchel, Sam scrubbed his jacket, doing what he could to get the bloodstains out. He’d learned a thing or two about getting bloodstains out from Dean, who dealt with it on practically a weekly basis.  
  
Once he’d done what he could with the cold water, Sam filled up the very bottom of the sink with the frigid temperature. He pulled out his own small pouch of salt from his pocket, and dumped it all in. The small jacket would soak overnight, and with any luck the stains would come out in the morning.  
  
Finished, Sam brushed off his hands and climbed out of the sink. He made sure that everything was in its place and set off once again, this time towards the nightstand and bed. It was time for everyone to bunker down for the night.  
  
It was only another fifteen minutes before not a soul was awake in the room.  
  


* * *

  
Dawn came swiftly. Dean groaned, rubbing blearily at his eyes. _Feels like I got hit by a bus,_ he grumbled internally.  
  
He sat up, blinking in the piercing light that made it to the king sized bed through the shades. He should have done a better job closing them the night before, after all, it wasn’t like they had a case or…  
  
He spotted the vase on the table and the events of the past day came rushing back.  
  
_Little bastard,_ Dean growled inwardly. He wasn’t happy with having to babysit the jackass, but it was better than just killing him outright. They weren’t murderers, after all. That was a line he never wanted to cross, and he’d keep Sam from falling that way if he could.  
  
Nope, they just had to babysit Logan, drop him off at Bobby’s, warn the older hunter about his new houseguest, and make sure Logan didn’t suspect that the human that owned the house knew about him. It would make it that much better if he ever got caught. After terrorizing the sprites the way he had, he deserved a little terrorizing of his own.   
  
The only light Dean could see about Bowman being the one that was captured was at least no sprite children like Rischa or Vel had been subjected to the same. They’d been able to stop him in time.  
  
Wanting to get their unexpected road trip out of the way, Dean nudged Sam lightly on a shoulder to wake him up. The younger brother was sprawled out across his bed haphazardly, the covers kicked off during the night. He recoiled from Dean’s hand in surprise, then glared at the morning wakeup. Dean gave him a wink, then nodded towards Logan’s vase. No need to wake the jackass yet.  
  
Nope, he had a better plan.  
  
Once they were both put together for the day, Dean dug through his duffel bag. He found what he was searching for, a jar he’d used in the past to trap bugs on an unsettling case where the spirit had summoned a swarm to do its bidding. He blew it out, then went over to the vase.  
  
It was a sign of Dean’s familiarity with people Sam and Logan’s size that he was careful enough to gather the hunter up into a hand without waking him. He’d done it to Sam before, more than once.  
  
Sam just never had to worry about what Dean would do with him afterwards.  
  
Tilting the jar on its side, he dropped Logan in.  
  
Rolling to the bottom of the jar as it tilted back upright was enough to jolt Logan out of deep sleep. He blinked owlishly, squinting in confusion as his memory caught up with his vision. He recalled that he'd fallen asleep on something much softer than what he lay on now. Cold, smooth, definitely not fabric.  
  
Logan focused and realized he was staring down _through_ the bottom of a container, and reared up in surprise. Everything came back to him by pure necessity as his heart leapt into his throat. He was absolutely tiny. And, he realized, surrounded by a huge hand, thick fingers pressing in on walls of curved glass.  
  
A jar.  
  
"Don't you fucksticks ever get tired of being jackasses? Let me out!" Logan blurted, trying to stand at the bottom of the jar. It was a much smaller space than the vase, though Logan remembered well that this was still much better than being locked up in a fist. He was mostly amazed that Dean had managed to move him without waking him up.  
  
“Aww, did someone wake up on the wrong side of the vase?” Dean cooed through the glass. The comment made Sam burst out laughing down on the table. “That’s too bad. We have _such_ a fun day planned out ahead of us. You even get to explore your new home!”  
  
He dropped the childish voice, briefly sobering up with a hard glint in his eyes. “And you better remember who’s calling the shots, bite-size.” _Bite-size_ was a nickname he’d never even _consider_ using on Sam or Bowman, or even saying out loud in the sprite’s or Jacob’s presence. But Logan didn’t deserve better, and so far hadn’t even displayed a speck of remorse.   
  
He was fair game, and for once even Sam agreed.  
  
Logan's attempt to stand up was thwarted by his own exhaustion and the faintest tilt of the jar as Dean spoke. The nickname he'd received made him clench his jaw from the reminder that it was all too accurate. Even some of the simplest things that Logan used to hunt and trap would be able to chomp him down in one bite.  
  
He sank to a seated position against the side of the jar opposite Dean, his hands out to either side in an attempt to stabilize himself. He scowled at the gigantic, slightly warped expression glaring in at him, masking his intimidation with more of the anger he never ran short of. It was sinking in a little more with each passing hour.  
  
Logan was completely at the mercy of the man keeping him prisoner right now. Dean could toss the jar to the ground and smash Logan along with the glass if he wanted to. It was entirely up to Dean, thanks to his superior size. He'd never go back to what he knew, and he'd never do any of the things he used to. All thanks to this jackass.  
  
"You think you're hot shit, don't you? So clever with your fucking mushroom. But you're not gonna change my mind about your precious sprites. Why you're wasting your time here instead of rounding them up is beyond me." Logan wasn't sure if hanging around Sam had anything to do with it, but clearly Dean had been tricked the same as that Jacob kid. He almost pitied the man.  
  
Dean tossed the jar up into the air a few inches, catching it without meeting a beat. Naturally, this caused Logan to experience weightlessness in the jar for less than a second before crumpling in a heap at the bottom again. “Good news. I don’t _need_ to change your mind about the sprites. You’re never going to see another sprite in your life, and we’ve got _all_ the time in the world.”  
  
Deciding the conversation was over, Dean grabbed the top of the jar and screwed it on. Logan slipped back and forth on the smooth surface as the jar twisted in Dean’s grasp. He scrabbled against the glass uselessly, unable to steady himself against even the most casual motions.  
  
There were a few air holes from the last time he’d used it, to make sure the bugs didn’t curl up and die. With Logan sealed in, Dean strode to the bed and grabbed his duffel. “Enjoy the ride out of sight,” he said as the jar was stuffed inside heedless of any protests. “It’s gonna get bumpy.”  
  
He zipped up the duffel and held his arm out for Sam. “Hungry?” Dean asked as soon as Sam made it up.  
  
Sam bobbed his head. “I wouldn’t mind a bite,” he replied.  
  
As soon as the door of the motel opened to the fresh morning air, Sam vanished under Dean’s jacket. He was flat against the shoulder, using the collar for camouflage as his brother walked the few feet to the car. He’d risked sitting out in the open on occasion, but it was best to be safe, especially since they didn’t have their backup from Jacob.  
  
Instead of tossing the duffel in the back and taking the risk that Logan would get smashed against a side, Dean dropped it next to his seat in the car. “I think there’s a drive-thru on the way to the highway,” he told Sam. “We’ll pick up some breakfast on the way.”  
  
Struggling against the movement of the jar was pointless. By the time the duffel was deposited in the car, only a few steps away for Dean, the jar had shifted so it was stuck between two weapons that clinked against the glass in the dark. Logan couldn't see them, but then again he didn't care as he all but collapsed in the small glass prison. Dean's walk had been difficult in the cage, but in his duffel everything shifted a little with each step.  
  
He remained in the dark even after the Impala's engine came to life once more. Logan looked up, scowling at the line of dim light seeping in at the zipper. It hardly illuminated his latest prison, but he didn't care. It would be bleak no matter what.  
  
A turn made him slide along the side of the overturned jar until he slammed into the lid. Logan scowled, but then found he could grip the lid using the holes cut in it. It quickly proved useless to try to unscrew it, but at least he had something to hang onto while he endured the drive for who knew how long.  
  
He seethed in the dark, thinking about the patronizing words Dean had said in that obnoxious voice. His new home ... were they really expecting to just drop him off somewhere and have him try to survive at this size? Logan wasn't even sure how the sprites managed it, and they had _magic_ they could call on. They were going to leave him to die somewhere to avoid just doing the dirty work themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all who are wondering, the truth behind Logan's words is something you'll all find out, in-depth, when @pl1 releases her sequel to Bowman of Wellwood! For now, you'll have to be content with this ;P though, perhaps one day Sam and Dean will get to the bottom of it. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Last: **January 5th, 2020 at 9pm


	14. Limbo

“I’ll take a coffee, black, with a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich,” Dean ordered at the drive-thru window. His voice remained gruff from waking up and not grabbing a drink.  
  
Sam was down on the seat, calmly watching the bag where Logan was trapped with a steady eye. From there, he couldn’t be seen from the drive-thru window, and there were no walkways nearby for a passerby to peek in at him. He could have a few minutes where he was sitting on the seat just like anyone else did.  
  
A shadow moved overhead and Sam craned his neck back. He watched as Dean steadily turned the wheel directly above, angling them out of the drive-thru. The car shifted to a faster speed, and Sam latched a hand onto the seam of Dean’s pants. As silly as it was, it was better than going flying with the car moving around. Dean wouldn’t be able to grab him in time with his attention divided.  
  
Moments later, the car was parked in the back of the lot, out of the way so they’d see people coming. Sam got a pinch of the sandwich handed off, and it was far more than he’d ever hope to eat. Logan’s jar was dug out of the bag right afterwards, bringing the other hunter back into the light.  
  
Logan once again landed in a pile at the bottom of the jar, pushing himself up with a scowl that was beginning to feel permanent. It was still alarming to see those fingers the size of him or bigger clutched around his prison, around _him._ They pressed into the glass with what looked like enough pressure to collapse his lungs.  
  
Though he'd never admit it to them without a fight, Logan could admit it to himself easily. It was unnerving being so small and completely at someone else's mercy. He could almost understand why the sprites lashed out at any opportunity like the pernicious little things he knew them to be. He bet they'd all be delighted if it was more common for humans to shrink like he had.  
  
"_What?! _” he snapped at Dean, huddling in the bottom of the jar and keeping himself as steady as he could. He ignored the smell of the breakfast food in favor of glaring out at his jailer. "Bored of driving already so you decided to bother me?"  
  
"Sounds like someone’s grumpy,” Dean said with a laugh. He put the glass jar down on the seat a foot away from Sam. “Guess he had other plans for breakfast, we should just let him be.”  
  
Sam shot Logan a _look_ of his own. “He's going to regret that later on,” he mused aloud. “I mean, it’s not like he’s going to see food like this again for a long, long time. Not unless he’s a hell of a lot better at sneaking around than he looks.” He hefted up his own sandwich, displaying the squished together bread and foods that he’d missed out on for thirteen long years. “This is practically a delicacy,” he announced to the car at large.  
  
Dean shrugged it off. “That’s just too bad, I guess.” He lifted up the sandwich, ready to take a bite.  
  
Logan glanced between the two sandwiches they had, one a miniature of the other, and frowned. Of course he wanted some of the food, but if they were still expecting to hear begging out of him, they had another thing coming. Still, with the jar on a mostly solid surface, he could actually stand, and he did so. With his hands against the glass to keep steady, Logan frowned cautiously at the two of them.  
  
Sam sat so casually next to Dean, who could crush him with one finger if he wanted to. That level of trust seemed so foolish. It was simple self-preservation, to avoid threats you couldn't neutralize, and to take care of the ones you could. Both pieces of advice served well when roughing it out in the wilderness, and it should apply here, too.  
  
He finally took the bait, however, and asked, "What do you mean I won't see anything like that? Are you _really_ just going to drop me off at some house? If you're so sure I'll fail, why bother with it? Why keep me alive?"  
  
Dean lowered his sandwich down to peer at Logan. "That's exactly what we plan," he stated flatly. "Not just 'some house,' either. It's our friend Bobby's house. So you'll be seeing us around more often than not. After all, we're gonna keep an eye on you, make sure you don't get into trouble."  
  
Sam shook his head ruefully. "We're not _like_ you, Logan. We're not just going to kill you off because it's easier or just because we can. You're getting a second chance; one where you won't be able to hurt anyone. I always believed that people deserve second chances. You should take advantage of it. It's not as bad as you're making it out to be. I lived for over thirteen years like this before I found Dean again. It's hard, but it's possible."  
  
Dean pinched off a piece of his sandwich and reached overhead. It easily fit into the airhole that was cut into the top of the jar. "Enjoy it while it lasts, bite-size. Sam's the one who's giving you a second chance. Me, I'm just gonna make sure you don't ever hurt anyone else."  
  
Logan didn't catch the offered food in time, but then he didn't try very hard to either. He stared pensively at the greasy bit of food, letting their words sink in. _A second chance._ Logan's brow furrowed deeply at the thought. A second chance implied that he'd done wrong. He wasn't buying their excuses for a second. Logan was right, and maybe it would take a while, but Dean would see it someday.  
  
"If I'm still alive when you come to your senses, I hope I get to say 'I told you so' to your faces," he snapped, sitting down and begrudgingly grabbing the torn chunk of breakfast sandwich. "You're looking at the wrong versions of the fucking fairy tales. This isn't some Disney bullshit. That little leaf-winged freak would rip you to pieces if he was big enough."  
  
Logan refused to look over at them again after that statement, knowing he was only likely to see disbelieving or smug looks on their faces. After all, Logan was patient, and he was smart enough to understand that he didn't _need_ them to believe him. The truth would stand on its own, and they'd see it someday. Sprites were tiny, but treacherous.  
  
And now, he'd finally been bested by the damn things, thanks to their hard work brainwashing other humans. The only comfort was that he'd never see any of the bastards again, in what he was sure would be a very short life.  
  
"I'm sure," Dean said dryly, thinking back to the time Jacob had been downsized to barely an inch and a half. If what Logan said was true in any fashion, the very _last_thing that the sprite would have done would be help Jacob out.  
  
_Rip you to pieces if he was big enough._ Well, Bowman had been more than big enough back then. But instead, he'd risked his neck to save Jacob from the library. He'd helped shelter the small hunter from even Dean when he needed to. Bowman was someone that all of them would trust with their life. And he trusted them in return.  
  
Once they were all done with their breakfast, Sam clambered back up to his usual shoulder perch-- riding shotgun, as Dean had decided to dub it-- and the Impala shot down the highway, on the road to Bobby's.  
  


* * *

  
Logan settled to the side of the jar leaning against the seat back. The leather expanse around him seemed to creep outwards farther and farther as it really sank in how small he had become. He fit in a goddamn _jar_ and was stuck on the bench seat of some old car. The sky was a boring view, but it was all he could see out the windows, so he watched clouds while he brooded.  
  
He tried to assess the situation he'd be going into. He had no supplies of any kind, and no reason to believe he'd be able to find any very quickly. He was going to some stranger's house to get dumped and told to go survive.  
  
Logan knew plenty of things about surviving in the wilderness, but he'd never imagined trying to survive in a giant house. Why would he? Normally he'd be tall enough to reach the fucking sink if he was indoors.  
  
Without knowing what would be available to him, Logan wasn't even sure he knew where he'd find shelter. He knew that within the walls would be a good start, but from there? He had no idea what it was like in there, aside from _dark_ and _dusty._ And there would be threats in there that normally Logan could crush under a boot without a thought. Spiders and mice would both require more thought now.  
  
That wasn't even considering the guy living there. Anything could happen if this Bobby caught him. For one thing, Logan had no weapons to fight off his enormous hands. He'd need to fix that as soon as he figured out a source of food.  
  
_Fuck,_ he thought to himself. The car ate up the highway and brought them closer to the destination, but with each passing mile Logan realized more and more that he was not prepared for this at all. They probably knew it, too. They'd stand back and see how he failed. They were going to watch for whichever possible death claimed him first.  
  
He jolted out of his thoughts when the car slowed down and the familiar clattering sound of an unpaved road grumbled around beneath the vehicle. The jar tilted forward, and then fell back against the seat, jostling Logan against the glass. Trees skimmed by the windows above. They had to be nearly there.  
  


* * *

  
Dean knocked at the door of the older house in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.  
  
He shifted impatiently while he waited, hefting the duffel bag farther up on his shoulder. Logan was once again concealed inside, to keep up the pretense that Bobby wouldn’t know he was in the house. Of course, at first Bobby _wouldn’t,_ at least until Dean found a way to tell him out of Logan’s hearing. Most likely through text later on that night.  
  
There came a series of barks from inside and a loud thumping. A crash, then a curse. Dean winced. It sounded like Rumsfeld must have gotten wind of Sam being nearby, and decided to go straight through Bobby to get to him.  
  
Normally, letting an animal the size of Rumsfeld near Sam would be the furthest thought on Dean’s mind. After seeing the pair interact, even the hardened hunter had to admit that they had a close bond. The dog would no sooner see anything happen to Sam than Dean himself.  
  
Bobby finally managed to get the door open with a creak. “Boys,” he greeted, his sharp blue eyes briefly flashing to Sam sitting up on Dean’s shoulder. For a hunter, he’d accepted the presence of the smaller Winchester without a problem, welcoming Sam into his home completely and even making a small shelter in a bookshelf for him.  
  
Rumsfeld pushed himself between the two humans, bouncing on his heels for a second as he tried to sniff at Sam. Dean jokingly pushed the dog down. “Calm down. You’ll get to see him plenty, y’know.”  
  
“So what brings you boys by?” Bobby asked as he pushed the door open so Dean could step inside.   
  
Sam waved the dog down, doing what he could to get Rumsfeld to back off long enough for them to make it into the house. Rumsfeld stood in the door for a few seconds, watching Dean’s passing form, then his ears perked up. Trotting after the hunter, he nudged at the duffel bag, whining at the smell he could just barely pick up.  
  
Logan had thought that hearing the dog's thundering bark was bad enough. His heart was already in his throat before he'd heard the door open. _They didn't say a damn thing about a fucking dog!_ he thought ruefully, wishing he could yell the curses on his lips at the top of his lungs. But then the other man would hear, as would the dog he could clearly hear snuffling at the duffel.  
  
He curled into himself a little more at the bottom of the jar, trying and failing not to shudder. He was barely ready to be sent off on his own in such an environment. Now he'd have to contend with a _dog._ A gigantic, house-sized dog that could easily turn Logan into a chew toy. All it would need to do was catch him.  
  
How he was expected to survive with that monster running around, Logan had no idea. He was more and more convinced that, despite all their talk, they didn't actually expect him to live through this. They'd left out any information on the dog because they knew that would probably be what killed him. Now Logan was even less prepared than before.  
  
Another sharp whine pierced his thoughts and replaced them with _No no no!_ Logan flinched, but it was lost in the constant movement of the duffel bag around him as Dean continued walking. He heard boots stomping on stairs but of course had no idea where he was going. He rapidly tried to think of everything he'd learned about dealing with larger predators, wondering if he could apply any of it to a dog that could snap him up like kibble.  
  


* * *

  
“We’ll just be around for a few days. I might work on the Impala a bit,” Dean clapped Bobby on the back. He held up his phone, arching his eyebrows at the other hunter to get the message across that there was more to their visit than met the eye.  
  
Bobby’s brow furrowed, and he nodded at Dean with an odd look. But he left them on their own.  
  
Unlike Rumsfeld.  
  
The dog bounced up once he could, jumping on Dean’s chest. “Whoa, hey. Down boy. We can’t knock Sam off, can we?” He couldn’t hide a grin at the exuberance. “C’mon, calm down a bit.”  
  
Dean pushed the dog down, then managed to slide into the doorway of his room. He waved Rumsfeld off as he tried to nose his way into the room, then shut the door with a click. Rumsfeld scratched at the door with a pitiful whine as he was sealed off from his small friend.  
  
The room inside was peaceful. A single bed, a desk against the wall, and a huge bookshelf that spanned one side of the wall. Delicate etchings covered up a large part of the bottom shelf, hiding away the small room that had been made just for Sam, complete with a bed and a chest for his stuff. They’d have to find a way to seal off that room while they weren’t around. Keep it safe from Logan slipping in.  
  
Dean gathered up Sam, letting him down onto the floor. He dug into the duffel bag, withdrawing the jar into the light. He unscrewed the lid and tipped the downsized hunter onto the ground between the brothers, then took a seat on the bed. Logan would get no breaks from his new perspective.  
  
Despite rolling out of the jar onto the hard floor in a confused jumble, Logan got to his feet almost as soon as he registered he was free of the glass enclosure. A number of disorienting sights had greeted him as soon as the jar came out into the light, and he was still recovering. Familiar things were warped by his new size. A shelf, a bed, a lamp, even the closed wooden door, all stretched overhead and seemed to lean in as if looking curiously at him.  
  
Of course, Dean, leaning with his hands clasped on his knees while he sat on the bed, was _actually_ looming over the two on the floor. Logan took a cautious step back, intimidated in spite of the defiance on his face.

[ ](https://www.deviantart.com/wolfie180g/art/Inktober-8-2017-Sam-sitting-on-Dean-s-shoe-708787856)

[Artwork by wolfie180g!](https://www.deviantart.com/wolfie180g/art/Inktober-8-2017-Sam-sitting-on-Dean-s-shoe-708787856)

He wanted to continue to look at the room. To check the faded wallpaper for some sign of a way into the walls. To see how far the hardwood floors stretched around him in all directions. To see how quickly he could disappear into the shadows under the bed. But any thoughts of finding safety here were pushed aside by his sudden disbelief that he'd need to.  
  
"You're seriously just dumping me here?!" he asked, rounding on Sam with an incredulous look. He balked when he realized Sam was now _sitting on Dean's boot_. "With a damn _dog?!_ You people are sick!"  
  
Sam arched an eyebrow from his casual seat that clearly conveyed to Logan who had the power between them. Dean was foreboding and intimidating as he stared down at the pair on the ground, his boot unmoving.   
  
It had been so long since Sam had considered Rumsfeld a threat, he’d almost forgotten exactly how terrifying a dog could be. Logan didn’t need to know that the worst he’d have to worry about from the dog was being nudged off his feet because he wasn’t giving scritches behind the ears.  
  
As far as Rumsfeld was considered, Sam was part of his family. He’d adopted the younger Winchester as soon as he’d seen him, and had in fact tried to guard Sam from Dean.  
  
Which, come to think of it, he might have to tell the dog to _not_ do anything of the sort with Logan. The hunter hadn’t earned a loyal dog like that, and they couldn’t risk him discovering that Rumsfeld didn’t mind Sam or anyone his size riding on his head.  
  
None of this crossed his face. Instead, he simply sat there with a bemused look on his face. “Next time, we’ll be sure to find you a place with kids instead,” Sam said dryly. “Believe it or not, they are a _thousand_ times worse than any dog you’ll ever have to worry about.” A memory of a kid reaching for him in Dean’s hand rose to the forefront of his mind. Dashing up Dean’s arm to escape grasping fingers that would trap him. All to save Jacob, and all worth it, but an experience that he’d never want to go through again.  
  
“We could always leave him out in the junkyard,” Dean chimed in helpfully from the bed. His unoccupied boot swung forward, bumping against Logan. “There’s plenty more to worry about out there.”  
  
Sam shot him up a look that didn't make it far past the knee at the angle they were at. They weren’t _actually_ trying to kill Logan off, after all. Dean grinned innocently, undaunted by Sam’s condemnation.  
  
Logan stumbled in surprise, and when he saw what had knocked into him, he stumbled away from it a few extra steps. A boot the size of a car, so casually controlled by the man still looming over him, just about knocked him over. Without any effort at all, Logan remembered, Dean could squash him out of existence. Hell, he might not even _feel_ Logan breaking if he did.  
  
His glare was once again shadowed by fear. They were actually doing this. Logan did his best to rein in his expression. There was no point in cowering or asking for mercy where there was none. Both of their faces told him everything he needed to know.  
  
Logan was well and truly on his own now, and he'd have to figure out an entirely new view on the world than what he'd known for a little over three decades. The view from the floor might as well be a view of a different planet.  
  
He tore his gaze from their expressions long enough to notice a vent in the wall, off to the side. The slats would be wide enough to admit him, when twenty four hours ago he would barely be able to fit a finger.  
  
_This is how things are now. Sprite-sized._ Logan shuffled a few steps towards the vent while looking back at his two jailors. They were just watching him, but showed no other signs that they had anything useful to say.  
  
He turned and bolted. Logan expected that boot to follow and nudge at him again. He expected that jar to be dropped over him to trap him again. He expected an enormous hand to drop in front of him like a wall. Any number of things Dean could do with ease to stop the desperate run.  
  
But he didn't.  
  
Logan made it to the vent and slipped through the opening, his breathing hard and his heart pounding. And then, he stopped. A dark, metallic hallway stretched to the sides in both directions. Standing in the pool of light from the vent, Logan couldn't see very far. The dark yawned before him like a real version of his uncertainty and the enormity of his task.  
  
If Sam could do it, if the _sprites_ could do it, Logan could, too. With or without help. Newly determined, Logan got his hand on the side of the vent shaft and cautiously stepped out of the light to begin exploring. His first order of business was to find shelter.  
  
After that, his task was just as uphill as it had ever been. Survival. Pure, and simple. For now, it was the only option Logan had in front of him, though it was as hard to see as the path he was walking.  
  
**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Logan lives, but his life now hangs in limbo at Bobby's house. Will he learn his lessons? Will he have a change of heart and perhaps become a better person?
> 
> These questions and more are saved for the next story of Brothers Found, The Trials of Logan! It is currently unfinished, so it will be some time before we see the Brothers Found boys again, but be sure to let us know your thoughts on all this!
> 
> **Next: **To be continued in **The Trials of Logan**


End file.
